


What light cannot repair

by dana_norram



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Flashbacks, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, It might take awhile though, Lose Your Mind, M/M, Nightmares, Original Character(s), POV Alternating, Panic Attacks, Post season 3a, Slow Build, There will be sex, What they did during the summer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-14
Updated: 2013-12-18
Packaged: 2017-12-29 11:15:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 44,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1004775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dana_norram/pseuds/dana_norram
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p> </p><p>*** In HIATUS ***</p><p> </p><p>The only way to fight darkness is to embrace it. </p><p>Or: a story in which Japanese shifters and vicious hunters arrive at Beacon Hills, Stiles tackles the shadows of his past, Scott struggles with his new role, Lydia learns how to control her powers, Allison makes some hard choices and Derek becomes a hero. Somewhere down the road, Sterek happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ain't No Grave (Can Hold My Body Down)

**Author's Note:**

> Title's from _On Love_ , by Joseph Brodsky.
> 
> A huge THANK YOU to [AgentLlama](https://www.fanfiction.net/beta/4977119/AgentLlama) for betaing this for me. :))) All remaining mistakes are mine and mine alone.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles understands how he, Scott and Allison weren't the only ones to sacrifice themselves for someone they couldn't live without. How, for his sister, Derek must have paid the price too. How he had bought light with darkness.

"Is it over?"

Allison's voice echoes in the root cellar. It sounds like a bad joke, Stiles thinks. He looks around, watches as Chris Argent clings his daughter's shoulder, afraid she could disappear if he just blinked. The smell of dry earth is sharp and spreads throughout the empty space down there. Stiles locks eyes with his dad, and tries not to think about what he did in order to find him. What they all did. Because if Deaton's right nothing will be over anytime soon. Maybe never.

But once his dad breathes and then laughs, relief pure and simple, Stiles can't help himself. He reaches forward and pulls him in for another hug. He needs to feel reassured. Maybe it isn't over, but for now, it'll be okay. They're all okay, and as he repeats these very words to Scott over the phone a few minutes later, as he jokes about a ladder to help them out that stupid hole, as adults and kids both giggles at ease... Stiles almost, _almost_ believes it.

He still can feel the cold from the whole bathtub full of ice experience, though. He wants to ask Scott how he's holding up, but trapped in a very small room full of parents who they haven't discussed whether they should be informed about that, he bites all his questions' back. He wonders if Allison feels the cold too, even with her father's arm around her.

Stiles looks at Isaac and can't help remembering Scott's brave face as he said it was okay to him be the one anchoring Allison. How Lydia had volunteered for Allison, how Deaton shut her down, and assigned her over to him. He thinks about how he should remember the feeling of Lydia's hands on his shoulder, or her lips over his mouth, but all Stiles can think about is the sudden need of air; on the locker rooms' cold floor, and the icy bottom of the bathtub.

"What about Lydia?" Allison voices Stiles' own concerns aloud and he dials with trembling hands, his chest feeling heavier with each ring it takes for her to pick up.

 _Please_ , he begs in silence, _let her be okay, let her be okay, please_ \--

"Stiles? Thank god." Lydia's voice sounds rough, tired, but undoubtedly alive and that's all that matters. "Did you find them? They're okay?"

"Yep, it worked, everybody's alive and well." He tries to laugh but fails, covers it with a cough. "Where are you?"

"Deaton's." Stiles frowns, but before he can ask, Lydia wraps it up. "Cora and I had to brought Aiden and Ethan over. Mrs. Blake almost got them killed."

"What? Cora's okay?" They're the first words that come out of his mouth. He still has the image of Derek's sister covered in cold sweat, very much not breathing in front of him. "How-- how did that happen?"

"No clue, but she's looks totally fine to me." Lydia says. "Want to talk to her?"

Stiles wonders how that conversation would go. Cora probably has no idea he had to CPR her back to life the night before and over the phone maybe isn't the best way to break the news.

"Nah, it's okay." Stiles deflects. "Tell her we all happy to hear it. Scott's coming over to let us out. Talk to you soon."

Scott arrives at the Nemeton four minutes later.

"Mom?" And once he overhears Scott's voice, Stiles' chest fills with overwhelming relief. After all, one thing was to talk to his best friend on the phone, but being able to actually _feel_ his footsteps over the dried leaves is a whole different matter. It's the first time in days Stiles let himself just breath. "Stiles?" Scott asks then, a little louder. "Man, you good down there?"

"I've been worse." Stiles shouts back, grinning when Scott laughs in return.

"Hang on," he says. "We're going to get you out."

 _We?_ Stiles frowns as he notices another pair of footsteps surrounding the huge stump, trying to find a way in.

"Here!" Stiles calls out, kneeling towards the gap he had jumped in earlier, trying to not let dirt into his mouth. The opening is slightly larger now, but also a lot deeper. "Over here." He hops up once, waving his hand so Scott can spot him.

Ten feet above, Scott's face lights up as their eyes finally meet since they had left Deaton's, hours, a lifetime ago. And as his adrenaline starts to settle down Stiles feels his head beginning to pound, realizes as his own smile pulls a muscle exactly where his forehead had hit the steering wheel during the storm. He tries to not think about his crashed jeep, but he fails and grimaces.

That's when he notices Derek just a step behind Scott. Stiles wonders if he knows about Cora. He probably does. Asking for Cora's whereabouts was one of the last things Derek had said to him.

"Listen," Scott starts, his head moving from Stiles to Derek. "Once we secure the rooftop, we'll let them out one by one." Stiles then watches, slightly surprised, as Derek just nods in agreement. "My mom and Allison first, then you, Stiles, the Sheriff and Mr. Argent. Isaac can help lift you all up."

They couldn't find a ladder, apparently.

As commanded by an unspoken sign Derek jumps in easily, missing Stiles by less than an inch. Stiles holds in yelp of surprise as he and Derek stare at each other for a whole second, before he decides to stay silent, and tilts his head, moving to show Derek the way inside. Stiles notices as Derek flinches for a heartbeat, looking at the crack in the earth in a way that can only be described as shame. With a resolute look on his face, he crawls inside.

Stiles gets it immediately. He can still hear Peter's voice, telling him and Cora what Derek was forced to do the last time he had found himself in that root cellar. Stiles feels his heart shrink, and chews the insides of his cheeks. He doesn't utter a word, though. Now is not the time, and it is definitely not his place.

Scott jumps in too, right behind them. He grabs Stiles' shoulder for a short, heartening moment before he crawls toward his mom, diving into her open arms, sinking his face on her neck, rumbling a small noise muffled by her soothing words. Stiles sees bright tears in the corner of Melissa's eyes. Isaac smiles at the duo shyly, averting his face once he realizes what he's doing.

Stiles' focus is only snapped off of that touching but uncomfortable sight when he feels Derek squeezing awkwardly by his side. Derek moves around, feeling the weight above them with both hands, testing the unsteady roof, his hairy eyebrows forming a tense single line.

Scott lets go off his mom and proceeds to do the same until Derek finally seems to be satisfied. He nods at Scott, who signs to Isaac with a tilt of his head. Isaac assents, ready like a soldier; he grabs Allison's hand, pulls her towards the exit. They are followed by Melissa, who seems uncertain about leaving her son behind. Stiles watches as Scott smiles warmly, appeasing his mom, before he takes a spot two feet next to Derek, both palms open against the top.

Stiles is absolutely ready to leave next, but as Isaac, Melissa and Allison are halfway towards the exit the entire place shakes hard, once. It's a small one compared when the storm was right above them, but everybody stops moving, pure fear on their faces. Scott and Derek's eyes glow as they release their strength to bear the whole thing if necessary.

The shaking stops the next second, but Stiles feels like his whole world has been turned upside down. Because where used to burn golden yellow now there's a deep, bleeding shade of red.

And by Scott's side, Derek's eyes reflect an electric, cold blue.

"I think we're good now. _Go_." Chris Argent breathes, signing for his daughter and Melissa to keep on. Stiles feels his dad's fingers gripping his arm, pulling him, but he realizes he just couldn't move. He blinks at Scott and Derek, notices how their eyes are human once again. "Come on, son," his dad says, an urgent tone. "It's your turn."

"We're good." Scott promises him with a tentative smile. "Go on, buddy. I got this." On Scott's left, Derek drops his head, avoids his face. Stiles nods to his best friend, lets his dad drag him to the exit where Isaac helps lift him up to safety, Allison and Melissa grabbing both of Stiles' hands to pull him out. He helps his dad up as well and together both of them haul Chris Argent out of the hole.

The humans all gather around and in silence watch as the three werewolves exit the hole like it's just a child's play. Stiles finally gets to hug Scott. He grips him like he could just disappear. Scott hugs him back and all things Stiles wants to articulate, (... _I can't believe you did it, dumbass, what the hell happened to your eyes, oh my god, don't tell me you killed him, Scott?_ ) gets stuck on his throat, a massive lump taking up the space he needs to breathe. Stiles feels the beginning of a meltdown building its way from his guts to his throat and he takes a deep breath, blinks to clear his vision. It's when he notices that Derek got his aluminum bat in one of his hands and can't help a cracked smile. He hides his face on Scott's shoulder.

They don't stay very long. Allison's car is parked nearby and the plan is to drive to Deaton's, so his dad, Melissa, Chris and himself can be all checked on. With Scott's dad hovering around it's not a good idea to go to a hospital or even to the police station. Isaac would get a ride with Scott to escort them on the way, which left only-

Derek.

Derek, who's now gazing at the Nemeton like he could sink it under the earth with his will alone, his big hand still firmly wrapped around the bat with which Stiles had played his _deus ex machina_ 's act earlier that evening. He fells suddenly cold again, the pain in his forehead building up, and he can't help feeling an abrupt weight on his chest at the picture before him, Peter's voice louder inside his head now they're in the open (' _Most of the time, the bite takes_ '). It's not his place, Stiles knows it. But he couldn't just ignore what he knows (' _Most of the time..._ '). And maybe, maybe that knowledge made him only a bit responsible.

"I guess we could try to squeeze your furry ass in the back, if you need a ride." He says as the others start to walk toward the road. Derek looks up like he had just noticed Stiles was there. Like he had just been awakened from a troublesome sleep. Stiles remembers trying to wake Derek up the day before, slapping him for endless minutes, thinks about balling his hand into a fist, ready to punch his face...

"Cora is there too, you know." He says reasonably, watches as Derek's eyes soften, notices he doesn't move from his spot next to the Nemeton, though, like he's trapped.

Stiles breathes, shrugs, takes one, two steps further; Peter's voice is still talking to them, him and Cora, there, in Derek's loft, in the back of his mind (' _Taking an innocent life takes... something from you as well..._ '). As he gets closer, Derek lifts his face up to the full moon in the sky. Stiles watches with a chill as his eyes reflect its brightness ('... _a bit of your soul..._ '), before Derek looks back down, to the stump, his iris darkened, his mouth rigid and then, then Stiles understands. Stiles understands how he, Scott and Allison weren't the only ones to sacrifice themselves for someone they couldn't live without. How, for his sister, Derek must have paid the price too. How he had bought light with darkness.

Stiles' head pounds again, hard, but he fights the pain. He's close enough to see how Derek's hands tremble on the baseball bat, as he's trying to hold on something. Stiles imagines Derek trying to save Cora, doing whatever it takes and he doesn't know what to do or what to say, so he just reaches, touches the bat in Derek's hand, who just gives it away like he couldn't bring himself to hold on anymore. And as Stiles looks at the trembling hands, he can't help remembering Derek kneeled next to Boyd's body and realizes how he terribly aches standing there, doing nothing.

(' _Are you just gonna ask Derek about the girl he fell in love with... and then killed?_ ')

Stiles sighs, heavily, trying to not take everything they had been through in the past months for granted. He prays Derek doesn't take it the wrong way. Because maybe it's not Stiles' place, but in a no man's land, someone has to take the first step.

(' _If I have to..._ ')

May as well be his.

Stiles holds the bat with both hands, playful, pokes Derek with it, obliging him to return the look. Then he takes advantage of their proximity to speak in a low voice, so nobody else but Derek could hear.

"You're even." He says and Derek's eyes flick blue so fast Stiles would have missed it if he wasn't so close. He doesn't interrupt Stiles or makes any attempt to silence him, though. 

"You told me once how the universe balances things out." Derek stares at him inquisitively, Stiles squeezes the bat between his hands. "So, she died down here, back then, and it took something from you. But now... now to save Cora I guess you had to give something in return and I bet you gave it _freely_." Stiles licks his dried, chapped lips, his heart pounding hard in his chest. He only realizes he's been waiting for being punched once he understands Derek is never going to, and this certainty gives him courage to wrap up his thoughts with a tentative smile. "If you ask me, I think you're even."

Derek doesn't reply, just stares with this odd, weird expression that Stiles finds vaguely familiar. He doesn't have the time to place it, though, for he hears his dad's voice, telling him to hurry up. Stiles twists his body so he can reply " _'Coming_!" in a shout.

Once he turns back, Derek is gone. 

On their way to Deaton's, his bat sheltered between his knees, Stiles finally remembers _when_ he had seen that weird look on Derek's face. Months ago, right after he had held him up in the swimming pool for hours. When Derek had tried to explain how even if a Kanima was a shapeshifter like a werewolf, it wasn't right. When Stiles named it an _abomination_ Derek's look had been something between hurt and hopeful. Stiles never had put too thought on it, but after everything that happened, it's like...

It's like re-reading a book once you got to know how it ends. An opportunity to go back and look at things under a different light. To gasp at the all details you had missed that first time. 

Stiles doesn't know, though, it would take awhile for him to have that chance. Because when he sweeps Lydia off her feet, she hugs him tightly; when Cora smiles to him, openly and brightly, for the very first time; when Deaton assures the wound on his dad's shoulder is completely healed (' _She wouldn't want for her sacrifice to die before the right time, would she?_ ') and gives Stiles something for his headache; Derek's odd look is carefully stashed away in the back of his mind.

Because when Stiles finally reaches for it back it's the middle of the afternoon, two days later, as he wakes up from a bad dream where he found himself being buried alive in dried dirt. As he gasps for air, like he did by side of a swimming pool, he remembers Derek's odd face; that something trapped between hurt and hopeful, and Stiles doesn't know it, not yet, but Derek is already gone from Beacon Hills for about seven hours.

*

_~ Five months ago_.

 

Stiles hadn't planned contacting Derek. Hadn't planned to have anything to do with any werewolf business now Scott had decided to get back on his feet and in order to perform such trick, stepped aside from the supernatural facade of Beacon Hills, his snout properly buried in fat classic books and PSAT manuals. Stiles was fully prepared to give his best friend full support and in return, maybe count with Scott's occasional assistance to get him in shape for the next lacrosse season. Stiles could make team captain, why not? It was a good plan. A reasonable, solid plan. Like his now 15-year to convince Lydia he was the one for her.

Turns out it was Lydia who ended up raining on his parade and with one phone call, changed everything.

"I need your help." She said. "With Jackson."

It made sense, Stiles thought, as he escorted Lydia and Jackson to the Hale House the next afternoon. With Allison gone and Scott busy, Stiles was her closest contact with the werewolf world. Plus, he kept telling himself, maybe it was the growing of a bond they had started to form that night she thought she had lost Jackson for good. The night Gerard had beaten the crap out of Stiles. Maybe she sought his help because she was starting to trust him and Stiles couldn't be happier. He needed people to trust him.

Derek didn't see too much eager in seeing them, that's truth, but at least he was there. Stiles phoned him in advance, but Derek's monosyllabic answer made Stiles doubt he would really take the trouble. With the whole Kanima thing, sometimes he just forgot Jackson was Derek's beta, for better or worst.

Then he watched, with Lydia by his side at the porch, as Derek taught Jackson to control his powers. He answered Lydia's questions about the supernatural world with care, keen for her attention. At night Stiles would stay up until late, researching like he used to do for Scott. He popped pill after pill to make himself focus and then, the next day, he would explain to her all about anchors, alphas, betas and omegas, wolf's bane, bites and hunters.

But every time Lydia's attention switched back to Jackson, which happened more often than he was happy with, Stiles would just turn away from her, uncertain whether he was trying to give them some sort of privacy or just not wanting to feel jealous of them. And every time, Stiles found himself focusing on Derek instead.

Derek, with that constipate look on his face. Derek, staring at Jackson like he was just trying too hard. He obviously felt responsible for the whole Kanima mess and in Stiles' humble opinion Derek was just reaping what he sown. Sometimes, though, when Jackson snapped back at an order, telling Derek he was not the boss of him, or when Isaac turned up in the middle of a training section, his face weary, talking to Derek in a voice too low for any of them to catch up, when Derek looked at verge of breaking down Stiles knew, deep down, he knew something was terribly wrong with the whole picture.

Why only Isaac who showed up? Why the rest of Derek's betas weren't there to help him with Jackson? Because Stiles knew for sure the Argents had released Erica and Boyd. It was the one thing he made himself to ask Allison in the aftermath. And she promised her father had let them go.

Stiles had tried Boyd and Erica's Facebook accounts and none of them had updated it in awhile. _Maybe they are still recovering?_ , he thought, busy between his research to impress Lydia and occasional texts from Scott, where his friend told him about saving money to buy his own ride, Stiles sending back a word of the day website he thought Scott could subscribe to.

And Stiles found himself almost _asking_ Derek at end of each training section, but every time, Derek's trademarked glare put him off. In the end, Stiles decided, it wasn't his business, his problem. Because once Jackson managed to get his shit together, Stiles would be out of Derek's hair and exclusively back to Scott's side. He missed actually _talking_ to his best friend, even on Skype, but Stiles knew he wouldn't manage to keep his mouth shut or his heartbeat in control and Scott would find out and feel responsible for Jackson and would want to know what happened to Boyd and Erica and Stiles just couldn't have it. Let Derek Hale take full responsibility for his betas once in awhile. The fact that sometimes Stiles woke up from a nightmare like he had been electrocuted didn't make Boyd and Erica' absence his business.

Even so, one afternoon, exactly eight days after Jackson's training had begun, just after he and Lydia had drive off on his Porsche, Stiles marched straight to Derek's personal space, took a deep breath and uttered a strangled " _You gonna tell where they are?_ ".

To Derek's credit he didn't even try to pretend he didn't know what Stiles was talking about. He just sighed deeply and crossed his huge arms over his chest, looking extraordinarily vulnerable despite his massive building, defensive even. Derek appeared to consider, though, if he should reply Stiles. And since the wolf was out of the bag, Stiles realized he wouldn't just leave without a straight answer, so he did what he does best. He pushed.

"It has something to do with Gerard having them tied up on his basement and the whole electrocuting thing?" Derek's sudden shaken expression made Stiles' heart skip a beat. "Oh my god, what happened? They're okay, right? You guys can heal, they have to be--"

The words suddenly failed Stiles and Derek just stared at him for what feel like a whole minute. There was this horrible feeling that he had no idea about what Stiles had just said. But it cannot be. Surely after being released Boyd and Erica would find shelter under Derek's wing, right?

(In the back of his mind, Stiles still could hear Erica's weak voice as she had a seizure, begging him and Scott to take her to Derek and _only_ to Derek.)

"I don't know." Derek finally let out, giving up. "They're taken."

"Taken?" Stiles gasped. "What do you mean _taken?_ Gerard is gone, they couldn't--"

"It wasn't Gerard." The muscles on Derek's arms twitched like he's trying to restrain himself. If it was not to hit him or to say something he didn't want to, Stiles couldn't tell. "Look, just forget it, okay? It's my problem."

Without waiting for Stiles to answer Derek turned and started to walk away. Stiles sunk his fingernails into the palm of his hands, trying to convince himself to stay put, to let the problem slip through his fingers. To ignore it until it finally went away...

"Do you see those bruises, hmm?" He called after Derek, cursing himself internally. "It's faded to yellow now, but I bet you noticed it when it was still _purplish green_." 

Derek stopped on his tracks. "What about it?" His voice sounded a little distanced, but if it was for lack of concern or something else, Stiles couldn't be sure.

"Want to know how I got them?" Stiles didn't wait for Derek's reply. "After the last lacrosse game, Gerard took me. Dragged me down his basement, and who did I find hanging out over there?" Derek still hadn't turn to face him, but Stiles could see his back had tensed up.

"Yeah," he went on, " _Your_ betas being kept 'comfortable' because they wouldn't just give their almighty Alpha up. I understand that minute why Gerard had me down there. To use _me_ to get to Scott so he could get to _you_. And I took a massive beating so he would leave Boyd and Erica alone and when he released me I went straight home and I _lied_ to my dad." Stiles took a deep breath. That was probably the longest sentence he ever said to Derek, and he wasn't even done yet. "I said to him it was okay, that it wasn't even that bad, but I didn't go to Scott as that psycho thought I would. So, no, Derek. I can't just 'forget it'. It's my problem too."

Stiles anticipated a murderous stare in return, but once Derek turned back, his eyes appeared somehow soft and defeated. Stiles watched as he ran his hand over his face like he suddenly had too much to deal with. Then, inclining his head toward the porch he sighed, heavily, pointing Stiles at a symbol painted in black on his front door.

*

"Still with me?"

Cora's grave voice echoes loud inside the Toyota, its windows all shut, Johnny Cash's _Thirteen_ playing on the radio. The singer sounds sadder than usual, Derek thinks, as he tries to turn down the volume. He only realizes he had actually just napped when his sister snorts as he failed attempt to reach for it on the first try, his mind fuzzy.

(' _The list of lives I've broken reach from here to hell_ ', it sings sharply before he manages to lower the volume.)

"Yep." Derek replies, trying not to rise to the bait. He only dozed off for a few minutes. Cora leaves him be.

She had asked to drive since they left Beacon Hills, half of a day ago. Derek refused, only admitting he was too tired after they stopped for lunch at a roadside diner, where he ate baked beans, sausages and hashed browns. At the time, Cora insisted that she wasn't hungry, but in the end helped herself with two cheeseburgers and most of Derek's apricot pie. He decided then that they had enough stubbornness for the day and just handed the keys over. 

It's nice to let someone else's to take the wheel for a change, he considers. It reminds Derek of being with Laura. He couldn't help seeing the parallels, even if it hurt him deeply. Running away from Beacon Hills along with his only sister, leaving a trail of tragic deaths behind. Expect this time Derek won't say he's exactly running. At least not the same way he did with Laura, seven years ago. Then he went because Laura was all he had left. This time, he's going because Cora won't stay and he promised he wouldn't leave her. Not again.

They're now heading south, towards Los Angeles to get on an international flight at LAX and, for the first time since Cora came back into his life, engaging in proper conversation.

Derek had accepted, without question, the very little information Cora fed him before that: how she managed to escape the fire and the hunters and then just did what their mother taught them to (' _hide and heal_ '). But now, now he's finally getting the details he didn't even realize he's been starving for. He also helped filling up the parts she couldn't explain, sharing some of his side and in the end they had an account which almost made sense, even if it was awful all the same.

Cora had ran, like he and Laura did, but she was an eleven year old, all alone and wolfed out for months, eating raw game until she finally found a friendly pack in Oregon. For months she did not speak or even allowed anyone to come too close. After they managed to extract her entire name, they tried to locate the rest of the Hale pack, but there's no trace of Derek and Laura, because Laura, convinced they're still being hunted, made them lay low for almost a year. Back in Beacon Hills no one knew what happened to them. Cora and the pack that harbored her assumed Laura and Derek had been hunted down and killed as well. Comatose Uncle Peter wouldn't be of much help and with the danger of exposing herself coming back home wasn't really an option, so she made her way down to South America, to Brazil specifically, where they had some family on their father's side. There she stayed put for about five years, until she heard of this powerful new Alpha, one of the Hales, building a pack and decided to make her way up.

"Sure you want to do this?" Cora asks as a light rain starts to fall on the road. It's getting dark, but since there's not much of traffic Derek doesn't ask for the wheel back. "Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful for what you did, but you don't have to come with me. I know what Beacon Hills means to... I mean, you have friends there. You just... you don't have to."

"I know." Derek says, grateful Cora didn't try talking to him about Beacon Hills, the land where his family made their home for generations, where he had grown up with a caring pack, a powerful and loving alpha, but also where his life had twisted into a trail of endless tragedies since he turned fifteen. Cora's right, though, Derek does have friends there. He likes to think he does, at least. 

"Scott's an alpha now," he sighs, relief settling deep, heavy on his stomach. "He'll take care of them."

Cora doesn't argue, but Derek can read all her judgmental opinion on the sharp lines of her face. In his mind Cora's voice keep asking ' _Why do we need this kid?_ ', not even a bit impressed with her brother's claim that Scott helped to save her life. Derek wishes he could explain to her how okay he is with giving up his Alpha status, how power never brought him any happiness, on the contrary. How he feels the need to start fresh. 

He thinks about the triskele on his back and stares through his sprinkled window, the rain falling heavier now. (' _It's a spiral_ ', he had explained to his betas. A lifetime ago, it feels. ' _Reminds us that we can all rise to one or fall to another_.') He thinks about what happened to the pack he tried to build to fill the hole left by his murdered family, by his burned down house. Derek can still sense their presence, Erica and Boyd's particularly, aching like a phantom pain. Isaac's, on the other hand, it's only a dull memory, his shifting allegiance something hard to hold on to even before Derek drove him off.

The night falls on the road as Derek convinces Cora to pull over by an okay-looking motel. Though she seems eager on putting as many miles as she can between her and Beacon Hills Derek doesn't comment, only reminds her even they needed to rest. She still won't talk about the three months she spent held by the Alpha Pack, that wound still rare and fresh and Derek doesn't push, feels he doesn't have the right to (' _I came back for this?_ ', her accusing voice keeps asking every time he thinks about it and Derek still doesn't know how to make it right).

While Cora takes a shower to wash off the road dust off her teeth (her words, not Derek's) he walks the perimeter, like Laura used to do for him when they were on the run. Nobody gives Derek a second glance. He fills up the tank and stands over a vending machine, busy deciding between a pack of Reese's or salted Nut Rolls. As he feeds a few coins in the slot, Derek wonders if his absence has already been noticed, or not. He realizes he doesn't know which would feel worse.

He had left with Cora on the first hours in the morning, without saying a single word to anyone. Peter had sent him a text once they're two cities away, wishing them good luck with the road trip. (' _Creepy_ ,' Cora had mumbled, before putting Derek's mobile on silence at his request).

Stashing a couple of Reese's in his pockets, Derek retrieves his phone from his jacket and stares at it for a few seconds. He could just drop it, crash it under his foot, cut off for good every single link he had with Beacon Hills. Start a new life from this night on, as Cora's big brother and nothing else. They would drive to their destination and he'd do more than follow her to a different country just to see her settled. He would present himself before a new alpha, ask for the chance to fulfill his proper life role as a soldier. The notion is alien and yet, strangely appealing.

Derek shakes his head and presses a button, the mobile lighting up on his hand: two missed calls from Scott on display. With a couple of clicks, he clears them off sight and, as a second thought, opens the contact list. There are only nine names on it and he knows all of them by heart. Derek pauses once he reaches Boyd, Erica and Laura's, his thumb stroking the letters, apologetic, unable to erase them. He barely notices Deaton and Isaac's, but deletes Jennifer's without a second thought and in the last second, lets Peter's be. Once he finally reaches Scott's, it is Stiles' name that draws his attention, though.

' _You're even_ ' comes the voice in the back of his mind and Derek doesn't fight a smile, enjoying the solitude of the empty lot. He did consider those words as he ran through the woods that night. If he was true to himself, in the end it was Stiles that pushed him in deciding to go with Cora. Derek had sacrificed his spark of power for his sister, he did give it away freely and he didn't regret it, not even a little bit. He's ready to put her first on his book, to let life runs its course until the universe could truly balance things once again. He considers calling Stiles just to say thanks. He should to, and not just for the pep talk, but he doesn't. He realizes he can't. He dials Scott's number instead.

"Derek?" Scott sounds alert and relieved and Derek fells an instant pull towards that voice. The voice of an Alpha. It's an old, almost forgotten feeling, definitely not uncomfortable. "You okay, man?"

"Yep," he replies, not sure what to say next. "Yeah, we're okay. Listen--"

"Where have you been all day?" Scott interrupts him and Derek snorts. Alpha or not, Scott is still only a teenager, all eager and unapologetic bones. "Stiles and I went to the loft, but your things weren't there. Did you move out? Not that I blame you, since--" 

"I left." Derek stops him, not sure if can handle Scott talking about the things that happened there. He stills wonders how he manage to come back after Boyd's, but then, for months he lived in his family's burned house. "With Cora."

Scott's breathing catches. "What do you mean you left?"

Derek snorts. He still wasn't sure about that himself. "I don't know. Cora won't stay and I- I promised I won't leave her again, so."

"You left, like, _really_ left? You mean you're not coming back to Beacon Hills?"

Derek considers the question for a second or two. He realizes he just doesn't know the answer and that's what he replies.

"Oh." Scott utters. "I get that." He stays in silence for a moment. "So that's why you calling? To say goodbye?"

"I don't know." He admits. It feels good to not been expected to have all the answers for once. "Maybe."

"Do you want me to tell the others or...?"

Derek thinks about it. Really thinks. He doesn't imagine the Argents or Lydia Martin caring much about that. But then there's Deaton, Isaac and Stiles. Deaton, his mother's emissary. Isaac, his bitten beta. And Stiles...

He doesn't know what Stiles is, for him. The best friend of the boy his psychotic Uncle bit? The human that held him up in a swimming pool for two hours? That helped him to search for his betas all summer? That reached for him after he was forced to kill one of his own? That took care of his sister when he couldn't? That beat him up to conscious so the cops wouldn't get him? It didn't feel right to consider the boy an ally only, but then Stiles never called him a friend.

"Derek?" Scott's voice pierces through his thoughts, makes him focus, Stiles' concerned face above him all forgotten.

"Sure, if you want to." Derek coughs. "Look, I have to go."

"Sure." Scott allows it. "Be safe, man, and... Derek?"

"Yes?"

"It's okay if you don't want to come back... I, I will look after him."

 _Him?_ Derek frowns and he almost, almost asks, but Scott puts him out of his misery by saying in a rushed tone: "I mean, he's already living here anyway, so--"

Isaac, of course. Derek resists the sudden urge to hit himself with his phone. It wouldn't do him any good besides probably damaging it.

"Sure." He manages, and in an afterthought adds a hesitant "Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

"So," And Derek meant to end that conversation, but with Scott's promise to look after Isaac, _as an Alpha_ , he finally realizes why he had really called in the first place. "Listen, Scott--"

"Yes?"

"You can do this." Derek assurances him, completely honest with the boy. "It'll be okay."

And Scott understands. "Thanks, man."

"I know I wasn't very good at it," Derek gives in, "But if you need to ask anything, well--"

On the other end, Scott laughs. "Yeah, you weren't. But then, Peter, Deucalion and the others were way worse. Maybe it comes with the job description or something."

Derek can't help laughing as well. He thinks of his mother, his sister. They're pretty good ones. "You'll find your way." Derek says and he _means_ it.

"I hope you find yours." Scott tells him, his voice quiet. 

Derek looks up at the sky, stares at the Waning Moon hanging over him.

"I hope that too."

Telling Scott good night, Derek climbs up the stairs to the room he's sharing with Cora. She's already fast asleep, a blanket careless dropped over her small body. Derek walks quietly and tucks her in, kisses her forehead. Cora wrinkles her nose, other than that, doesn't move. He takes a quick shower, puts on his pajama bottoms and sinks on the other bed, wondering how much time would take for him to fall asleep and dreading what would happen once he does.

It doesn't take very long and when Derek realizes, he's dreaming of Erica and Boyd walking away from him.

He follows them, begs to not be left by himself. 'I was lonely', he admits, but they're both already out of sight. He keeps walking, suddenly lost in dark woods he doesn't seem to recognize. It's only after what seem like hours that he finds himself at the root cellar.

Paige's down there, her eyes darkened by a bite that slowly poisons her entire body. She asks why Derek did that to her. She approaches him, her fingertips cold and sticky against his skin. She tiptoes so her lips can reach his' and her touch is like been electrocuted. Derek blacks out and once he opens his eyes again, Paige's gone, but there's Kate in her place. He's now shackled, his arms useless above his head, and in the opposite wall, facing him, the bodies of his two betas hang loose. Erica's rotting flesh, her blonde hair spoiled with dried leaves and blood. Boyd's wounds still oozing, only the white of his eyes staring at Derek, accusing.

' _You did tell her about me, didn't you?_ ' Kate asks in a rough voice, her throat slashed open, prodding him with a tip of knife. Derek hisses in return. She drops her head, laughs. ' _Oh, I don't mean the bitch of your sister, sweet,_ ' Kate chuckles. ' _I'm talking about your new... psychotic, mass murdering girlfriend?_ '

' _No, he didn't_ ,' Jennifer's voice creeps down as she joins them in the root cellar. Once she stands besides Kate, Derek notices the carved claw marks on her face. ' _Girl, what happened to your throat?_ ' She asks Kate, who gives her a bloody smirk in return, her gaunt face lighting up. ' _A vicious, stupid Alpha, what else?_ ' Kate replies, a madding shadow on her irises, like a flame. ' _Those monsters need to be taught a lesson_ ,' Jennifer says in return. ' _Don't you agree?_ '

Kate nods intensely, passes her knife to Jennifer so she can be free to grab a gallon of gasoline, starting to drip its contents around the room, pouring it over the motionless bodies of Erica and Boyd.

' _Don't_!' Derek fights against his manacles, but Jennifer presses the edge of the knife against his throat.

' _Shut up_.' She commands, but Derek can't let Kate burn Erica and Boyd. He knows they're already dead, but he just can't. ' _Make her stop_.' He implores and his voice is the same of a young man, a boy, really, before a burned down house, almost seven years ago. ' _Stop talking_ ,' Jennifer's voice is closer now, her fingers gripping Derek's hair, to make him stay still. ' _We're going to teach you monsters that your monstrous actions-_ '

' _I'm not even an Alpha anymore_!' Derek pleads in despair.

' _I don't care_.' Jennifer replies, releasing her grip on him, a lighter materialized on her hand. She switches it on, her eyes reflecting the flame. Behind her, Kate throws the empty gallon at Erica and Boyd's feet, looks around, hands on her waist, admiring her work. ' _Jennifer, please_.' Derek begs, his vision blurred, heart bleeding.

' _I still don't care_.' She sounds almost sad, face solemn and resolute, before letting the lighter slips through her fingers...

Derek wakes up with a scream trapped in his throat. His hands are balled into fists, grabbing the sheets on his bed, breathing erratic. He only realizes he had wakened Cora when he feels her hand on his elbow, gesturing for him to roll over, to face the wall so she could fit in the small mattress, wrap her arms around him, tucks her chin on the crook of his shoulder.

There, safe into his sister's embrace, Derek remembers some of Erica last' words to him (' _Since I just turned 16 a month ago, I wouldn't mind getting my license_.') and he wonders who taught Cora how to drive. (' _I can't do that if I'm dead, you know_.') And Derek knows it. He knows as he still can fell her cold body on his arms.

Eyes shut, Derek asks once again for forgiveness, for a break, a sign.

(' _We lost, Derek_.' Boyd's voice accuses him. ' _We're leaving_.') And Derek grabs one of Cora's hands wrapped around him, squeezes it, feels her warm chest against his back. (' _No. No, you're running. And once you start, you don't stop_...,' he declares, five months ago, as a last resort, already knowing it's already too late.)

"It's okay, Derek." Cora's voice is thick with sleep.

(' _You'll always be running_ '.)

"You'll be okay," and as she brushes a goodnight kiss on his cheek, Derek thinks about Paige, Kate, Jennifer, Erica, Boyd, his pack, his whole family. He doesn't know if he is really even; if the universe is somehow done with him, but for now, for once, maybe just for tonight, he might as well try to believe it.

 

 _Well meet me, Mother and Father,_  
_Meet me down the river road_  
_And Mama, you know that I'll be there_  
_When I check in my load_.  
**Johnny Cash – Ain't No Grave (Can Hold My Body Down)**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Usually I would rather finish the story before starting posting it, but I really want to wrap it up before 3b starts, so, though I haven't finished the story yet, I do have the whole thing outlined, with a timeline, general events and *plot*. I have half of the next chapter written and I'm hoping I can start the third by the end of this week. If everything works out, I'll post Chapter Two next _Moon_ day.
> 
> English is not my native language, so please feel free to make any constructive criticism. ;) You can reach me @ queermadbaggins, my [tumblr account ](http://queermadbaggins.tumblr.com/), or leave a shout out in the comments' section.


	2. Don't help them to bury the light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We've been having those... dreams. Scott doesn't want to admit it, but I know he does, too." Stiles coughs, hesitates. Wonders if he has said too much. "What if we made it worse, Derek?" He sounds terrified. "I'm afraid we made it worse."

"I know what you're thinking," Cora elbows Derek as they walk side by side on a large, busy avenue.

There are all sorts of people fighting for space. Short, tall, chocolate skins, rosy cheekbones, curly hair ironed straight, dyed blondes and redheads, all walking quickly, impatient. Almost like they're all late for a life changing meeting, their scents mingled into something sweet, rushed and alienated. It's a rather different crowd from the one they had to go through the few days they spent in Los Angeles before boarding a plane south.

"Do you?" Derek asks his sister, doubts it, really.

"I bet this is not what you thought Brazil would look like." Cora grins, stepping aside to let a large woman dragging a toddler pass. "No beaches, for starts. It must be a disappointment."

Derek hums under his breath, following Cora's lead as she turns into a less busy corner. She's not entirely wrong, though. He never thought much about the country the family on his father's side lived in, but for the little he thought he knew about Brazil, the city of São Paulo definitely didn't fit the description. It was such a grey, chaotic, massive metropolis.

In some ways São Paulo feels almost like New York and truth is, Derek couldn't help thinking about the time he and Laura explored the Big Apple, six, almost seven years ago. How he had felt safe for the very first time since the two of them left their burned home behind, finally convinced no one could ever find them hiding between those millions and millions of people. No one, not even Kate.

Funny how she didn't even have to hunt him down. How he came back running once Laura went missing. And even knowing that Kate didn't kill her, Derek couldn't just stop hearing her taunts (' _Too bad she howled like a bitch when we cut her in half_!'), his body spamming in pain.

"I think I'm more of a woods kind of man, you know?" he says, trying to ignore the sight of Laura's dead eyes, her half body cold, covered in dirt and dried leaves.

"You're going to fit right in, then." Cora says as they walk into a building. A doorman waves at her, welcoming recognition in his eyes. They march straight into a panoramic elevator; his sister presses the button for the eleventh floor. "They call this city a _Selva de Pedra_ , after all."

Derek frowns, trying to gather the little Portuguese their father had bothered to teach them growing up. Through the glass window he stares at a massive agglomerate of steel skyscrapers and solid concrete towers, the whole skyline painted in grey.

"Stone Jungle", he realizes, instantly missing his father in a way he never did before. Their mother always the strongest presence on their lives, but his dad... his dad had something, some sort of stillness Derek never really thought much about until now.

It couldn't have been easy for a werewolf to grow up in such grey place. The enormous city would make anyone smaller, eventually. It was not really surprising his dad would give up his whole family to mate an Alpha whose pack lived so far away. He wondered why his father's pack wouldn't rather gather in the immense Amazonian forest they had up north in the country. As far Derek knew, werewolves didn't do well in big cities, specially the one with big packs, the small children always so hard to control.

"Do you like it?" He asks Cora once they reach the eleventh floor, the metal doors sliding open to reveal a room furnished in white. "Living here?"

"She didn't," a voice thick with accent floods the room as an elderly Alpha appears at the threshold. "Not at the beginning, at least." She had a short, spiky white hair, framing a face that resembled his father's in a way that made Derek's heart ache. "I don't suppose it is easy for a wolf accustomed with a big house in the woods to not have too much space to run around in the full moons." She smiles at Cora. "We managed, though."

"Vovó." Cora hurries at the woman's direction, sinking into her spread arms. Derek recognizes the Portuguese word for grandmother and frowns. As far he knows their father's mother was never an Alpha, or was even still alive for that matter.

"Ma'am." Derek gives her a respectful nod, not sure if it's polite to ask who she really is. He wishes Cora had given him a little more besides 'I've been living with dad's family' or even that he had felt allowed to ask for more. "I'm afraid I don't remember your name."

"Don't be silly, child, of course Carlos didn't tell you kids about his old auntie Vivian." An arm carefully wrapped around Cora's shoulder, Vivian signs for him to follow them into the kitchen. The clock on the wall shows it's barely seven in the evening, thought it's already fully dark outside. "His father never let the boy near me, but by the pictures I can tell the poor guy got my nose." She wears a humorless grin. "It was absolutely awful what happened to him and your mother. I was so devastated when I heard."

As she releases Cora, his sister busies herself pulling plates and cups out of cabinets, collecting butter and jam from the fridge, puts water to boil on an old-fashioned coffeemaker. For Derek, it's clear how Cora knew her way around that place, how she considerate it her _home_ in a way Beacon Hills couldn't ever be again. He thinks he should be happy for her and feels terrible once he realizes he just doesn't.

"My older brother was born human, you see." Vivian gestures for Derek to sit in front of her at a small round table. "He should have been the Alpha after our father, but my parents were too afraid to give him the bite." Derek notices how the skin of her arms is covered in freckles, tanned from years of living in a tropical country, beaches around or not. Her light brown eyes vivid and alert. "And maybe even then he might have remained a beta, or became an omega, who knows? I don't really blame him for hating me."

Derek thinks about Paige and, oddly, of Jackson. He didn't really remember knowing about his grandfather being a human, but that wasn't exactly atypical. He understands he just grew up so focused on his mother and his mother's family that never occurred him to look up his father's side, even after the fire. He wonders if Laura knew those things. He remembers how there're some ordinary people at the Hale House that night, too. Humans or wolves, they all burned.

"He left once he turned eighteen, never wanted to hear from us again. Married out of the pack, you see." Vivian sighs, drinking a cup of the steaming, strong black coffee Cora just poured for her. She drinks it plain, without milk or sugar. Derek releases the coffeepot from Cora so she can sit with them, fills up a cup for them as well. "When I found Carlos was born a wolf I tried to contact my brother, told him the boy should been raised among his kind. I was pushy, of course." She shakes her head. "I thought I had the right."

Derek watches Cora covering several loaves of white bread with thick layers of apricot jam, accepts as she hands two of them in a small plate for him. Cora must have heard that story before, because she doesn't seem to pay attention to any of Vivian's words.

"Didn't you?" Derek asks, realizes he ought to contribute to that conversation somehow.

"Of course not." Vivian stretches her arm across the table, asking for more coffee. Derek fills her cup without spilling a drop. She's not really intimidating, but he feels somehow nervous around her. He used to feel that way with Laura, right after the fire, but always thought it had something to do with his guilty conscience. Now, he thinks it's probably just his body learning how to operate before a potential new leader.

"We Alphas tend to mix up duties and rights, or as we say over here, _deveres_ and _direitos_. It is one thing to have the duty to act like an Alpha, to want your pack to be safe and do everything you can for them. Now, acting like you're somehow entitled to run their lives completely? It only shows you don't trust them and trust is something you simply cannot buy." She stares at Derek over her half-drunk cup. "You don't trust easily, do you son?"

Derek thinks of Kate first, followed almost immediately by Jennifer. Her soft eyes, her bright smile. How finding out she was killing people didn't feel like a betrayal, more like inevitably. Deep down, Derek knew he just had been waiting for the other shoe to drop. He holds his breath, tries not to flinch as an annoying, rushed, frantic voice pierces its way inside his brain ('... _the second one you've dated, by the way.._ ').

And he can't help remembering how it felt to be paralyzed, at that kid's mercy. His voice asking Derek for something in return (' _Would you just trust me this once?_ '), something he gave away for Jennifer without a second thought. Derek didn't care if she used some sort of druid power on him or whatnot. When he was with her it _felt_ real, he _wanted_ to believe it was real, and that feeling, that wanting was far worse than any spell. And Derek would rather have worse. Worse is convenient, manageable. Sometimes he wonders if he just couldn't let himself believe that night, in the pool, because he felt it would be safer that way (' _You need me to survive_ '). Some sort of mutually assured destruction.

Cora looks between him and Vivian, seems to sense Derek uncomfortable silence. " _Vó_ ," she interjects. "Deixa ele."

Derek whishes his sister could stick to English around him, but he couldn't just ask her to drop that sense of _being_ home. Vivian taps her bony hand over Cora's and smiles warmly.

"Okay, okay. Look at me being all pushy again… and he's not even in my pack." She chuckles. "I really try to not be this way, son, I'm sorry. It's a full time job." Vivian sighs, putting her cup down for the first time since they sat at the table. "Almost didn't let Cora here go after you, but I had no right, _right?_ You are her family."

"So are you."Derek says with cringed teeth. He wonders whether it wouldn't have been better that way. To never know his younger sister was still alive. Cora wouldn't be locked up in a vault for three months. Wouldn't have almost died if wasn't for him giving up his spark of power. Derek wonders how it would feel to still be an Alpha. "You're blood."

"Blood has little to do with it." Vivian replies, adamant. "It may help, of course, but I guarantee you, in the end it's all about trust. Your grandfather was blood and it didn't do him any good, did it? He didn't trust us, so he left."

Derek feels those brown eyes heavy on him. And he understands what he's being asked, without having to be told aloud.

"But I'm here." He says.

"Yes." Vivian agrees, squeezes Cora's hand between her fingers. "You are."

"You don't have to." Cora says in a rush, bright big eyes. "I'll be okay."

"Cora," Vivian stares at her kindly. "Your brother is free to go wherever he feels he needs to." She eyes him. "He's free to stay as well."

Derek looks between the two women. He remembers watching his mother and Laura discussing pack business at the dinner table and can't help a warm, yet sad feeling build its way inside him.

"I'm staying." He decides, finally. "For now, at least."

Cora smiles openly and grabs his wrist to show the room Vivian had set up for him. It's a small one, with a single bed, a desk and a wardrobe, all made of dark wood. There's a few books displayed in a shelf, all titles written in various Latin languages Derek couldn't understand. Cora leaves him to unpack and shower, promising they're going to visit a place they could run around the next day, if he wants.

Once Derek's ready to go to bed, there's a firm knock on his door. Vivian smiles over a mug filled with some sort of tea. He doesn't recognize it, but the aroma is really nice. Derek stares at her for a few seconds, then, as an afterthought, steps aside to let her in. 

"Cora told me you have been trouble sleeping." Vivian says, mug still in her hands. He probably makes a face because she rolls her eyes at him. "It's nothing to be ashamed of. After everything you've been through I would be surprised if you slept like a cub. Here, take this."

She hands Derek the steaming mug. He accepts it, and wrinkles his nose at the smell, curious. 

"It's just a blend of peppermint, anise, lemon grass and, of course, chamomile. The secret is in the amount of each herb you put in." She watches as Derek sips the tea, looking the city lights through the window. "I'm afraid the traffic would be up for most of night." She sighs deeply. "It's a Friday you see."

Derek nods, not sure what to reply. He lived in New York. He probably could manage São Paulo just fine if he puts his mind into it.

"But perhaps you'll find the sound oddly helpful." Vivian says and she walks out the room. "Distracts the mind."

And he doesn't know if it's the tea, the traffic or even the jet lag, but Derek falls asleep as soon as his head touches the pillow.

He only wakes up from a dreamless blessed unconscious several hours later, the sun already up. The digital clock on the nightstand shows it is ten minutes past seven in the morning. Surprised, Derek realizes he had slept for almost nine hours straight and wonders the last time he did that without being in some sort of near-death experience induced coma. He feels strangely empty, like when you miss a step on the stairs, like he's afloat, waiting for something to happen.

His cell phone vibrates a second after Derek finishes that very thought and he bravely fights the urge to smother himself with a pillow. And as he reads a text message from Stiles ( _r u awake?_ ) Derek realizes he just doesn't have to answer it. In fact, he could have his line canceled and no person in the whole world could say he didn't have the right. He stares at the words before him, notices how the screen still displayed California's time. It's past three in the morning up there.

Derek's heart skips a beat. He's positive Stiles wouldn't be texting him just to talk about their feelings. To ask Derek how the road trip is going. To request him to send them some nice postcards. Something must have happened. Regarding Scott, most likely. Alpha or not, Derek realizes he still feels responsible for him.

His fingers are still as he dials Stiles' number, but his chest feels heavy as he waits for the calling to connect, the craziest scenarios playing tricks with his mind. Kate back from the dead, Gerard yielding his broad sword, black blood dripping from his facial cavities as he screamed madly. Deucalion teaming up with Jennifer and bringing the hell back to Beacon Hills ( _How couldn't you have found her body? Did she turn into ashes, like your family?_ , his mind asks, mocks him). Scott would fight them, would want to do it all by himself and of course his best friend wouldn't let him...

"How do you do that?" Comes Stiles' choked voice from the receiver, like he's gasping for air.

Derek remembers that sound, from the pool. He should've trusted Stiles. He should have.

"Do what?" He plays along, doesn't ask whether Scott's alright.

On the other side, miles away, Stiles breathes heavily. Stays silent.

"How I do what, Stiles?" Derek insists, uneasy.

He overhears Stiles' computer running, the night breeze coming from his window, ajar. The muffled sounds of the boy moving around his linen, scratching his hair. Stiles sighs, regretting the text, maybe.

"Geez, man," he breathes. "I'm sorry."

"Are you okay?"

"Yes." Stiles says too quickly, then laughs like the very question is a joke. "No. I don't know. I don't think so."

It's been two weeks since he left Beacon Hills. Stiles looked a bit shaken, but mostly okay the last time Derek saw him. What happened within those few days? What did Stiles do? What _did_ he see?

"Is there...?" Derek doesn't know how to formulate the question. Doesn't know _what_ to ask. He wonders if he really wants to know. If he wouldn't end up feeling responsible for somebody else, too.

"No, it's just..." Stiles mumbles. "I don't know what to do."

Derek gets off the bed, walks around his small room, runs a hand over his face. He stares over a city that looks nothing like Beacon Hills. He realizes he misses it already, but he can't. He just can't.

"What's happening?" He allows, presses his forehead against the glass window. It's already warm by the morning sun.

"Nothing, nothing. It's just--" Stiles says, rushed tone. Derek can almost feel the edge on his voice, sharp like a knife. "We've been having those... dreams. Scott doesn't want to admit it, but I know he does, too." He coughs, hesitates. Wonders if he has said too much, maybe. "What if we made it worse, Derek?" Stiles sounds terrified. "I'm afraid we made it worse."

Derek knows about their surrogating sacrifice. Scott talked about it briefly after they left the distillery, after Deucalion and Jennifer. How he, Stiles and Allison drowned themselves for their parents. The price it would take. Derek didn't give that too much thought. He could relate, though. He thinks of Cora. The spark of power he gave up. Wonders if he made it worse, somehow, too.

"It's okay." Derek says, doesn't mean it, though. He just wants to believe in it as well. "It's okay."

He can hear Stiles' heavy breathing. _That_ doesn't seem to be getting any worse, at least. He thinks about Stiles' first words, as he picked up the phone. He finally understands what they meant.

"I didn't really do anything." Derek pictures him and Laura before a burned house, Kate's laughing voice piercing in his mind. His sister's lingering hand on his shoulder. "I just left."

"So that's your secret recipe, hmm?" Stiles jokes, badly. "Just pack your things, take a vacation from Beacon Hills?" He snorts. "Maybe I should try it."

Derek snorts back. "Maybe you should."

"Nah," Stiles utters, skeptical. "You know I can't do that."

Derek knows. Somehow, he knows (he watches a unconsciousness Cora on Peter's back, Stiles with a baseball bat on his hand, Scott by his side, ' _Don't stop, don't stop_!' he says and Stiles just _doesn't_ listen to him).

"So what you going to do?"

"I honestly don't know." Stiles laughs, bitterly. "Is that okay? I mean, the 'not knowing' part?"

Derek thinks, really thinks. How he felt responsible for Scott when he was bit. He didn't even know it was Peter, back then. He just saw a boy afraid of what he became and he wanted to help. To be helped in return. To have a chance to feel part of something again. Derek didn't know how to do it, though. He screwed up.

"Not always, no." Derek says. He pictures Stiles swinging his bat against the twins' head, wood dust shattered in the air. "But I have a feeling you'll try anyway."

This time Stiles' choked laugh echoes a bit happier. Derek thinks he didn't make it worse, so there's that.

*

 _~ Four months ago_.

 

Stiles was sitting at the porch when Derek arrived, Jackson and Lydia nowhere to be found. Derek hesitated, didn't want to be alone with him. Stiles had this terrible tendency to ask question after question and to not take 'no' for answer. Derek could respect his need for knowledge, the way he put himself in harms' way just to help his friends. It didn't mean Derek had to like it. Plus, Stiles' inquiries about Boyd and Erica's whereabouts were escalating, causing Derek to feel worse than he already could do by himself.

"Yo," Stiles uttered as a greeting, his attention immediately back to the phone on his hand. "You're late."

Derek was four minutes late, and he was there to train Jackson, not to appease Stiles. If Jackson wasn't there yet, Derek definitely wasn't late. It wouldn't do him any good to argue with Stiles, though, so he remained silence, arms crossed against his chest, eyeing sideways as the boy typed furiously. Maybe he's talking to Scott, Derek thought, feeling uneasy at that thought.

He could understand what Scott did in order to defeat Gerard, he really could. It didn't mean Derek enjoyed the part he had to play. (' _You are the only piece that doesn't fit, Derek_.') He could still feel the awful taste of Gerard's blood on his mouth, could hear himself pleading (' _Scott, don't_!'), but if Derek was true to himself, the bit that hurt the most was Scott's last words to him (' _You might be an Alpha, but you're not mine_.'), shutting him off completely.

Derek eyed the boy on his porch and wondered if Scott told _him_ about his master plan. He probably did. Stiles was his best friend, not Derek. Derek tried to help Scott (' _... you're gonna need me if you want to learn how to control it_.'), he really did. But he wasn't anything, really, in the end. (' _So you and me, Scott... We're brothers now_.') Not worth of his trust.

"They should have been here by now," Derek blinked at the sound of Stiles' voice. The boy raised his head, looked around, like he was trying to hear the sound of a Porsche approaching the house. Derek knew there's none. He didn't feel like sharing it, though. "Okay, I'm calling Lydia."

Derek didn't even pretend to not overhear the conversation. Lydia Martin sounded as she had just woken up, her voice thick and slightly throaty as if she had cried herself to sleep. She mumbled a ' _Sorry, I forgot to text you_ ', followed by a tired ' _Jackson's dad moved him to London last night_ '. Derek could read several layers of different emotions on Stiles' face. Surprise, relief, but mostly there's just bitterness. He swallowed vividly, put on an offended face, but other than that Stiles just nodded and finished the call with a forced, "Alright, then. See ya, Lydia."

He stashed his phone back on his pocket with a couple of harsh moves, biting his lower lip between his teeth. Derek thought he should go away, his work there done, but realized he couldn't just move. He watched as the boy before him ran his hand over his head, grabbing his short hair. Derek felt uncomfortable, coughed aloud just to have something to do with himself. Stiles looked up, like he had just noticed he was still there. Derek waited for a snarky comment or for questions about Erica and Boyd, but Stiles only smiled briefly, worn-out.

"So," he started, licked the lower lip he was biting seconds before. "Seems we have the day off."

Derek blinked. He didn't know how to answer that.

"Oh come on," Stiles got up, brushed the dust from his pants. "We know each other for months but we never had the chance to talk without being in the middle of a threatening life situation, with you bleeding out all over Roscoe or being paralyzed from the neck down..."

He must have made a very angry looking face, because Stiles raised his arms in an " _I come in peace_ " gesture.

"Look," he began, "I was up until four in the morning doing research to help the jackass boyfriend of the girl I've been in love since I was this high, which means I oversleep and didn't have the time to eat a proper breakfast so I could get here in time... and I did it just to find out what? That her jackass of a boyfriend left her to eat fish and chips and drink tea with the Queen. And she couldn't even pick up the phone to let me know so I could have slept a bit more. My dad was home this morning, you know? I could have stayed and made him those vegan pancakes he loathes so much."

Derek wasn't really sure what reply. He was pretty sure they are having some sort of moment right there, though, absolutely certain he didn't ask for it. But Stiles was trusting him enough to say all that and the appropriate thing to do probably was not to turn around and leave as Derek desperately wanted to.

"Vegan pancakes?" Derek tried. He wasn't very pride of it, but it was the better he could offer.

"What's the problem with vegan pancakes?" Stiles looked a little bit perky than a minute before, so Derek would count that as a win. 

"There's no meat in pancakes," he replied, not sure where they're going, but it seemed a lot better than talking about Lydia Martin. "How do vegan pancakes even work? You make them with low-fat Milk or what?"

Stiles grinned, clearly keen on the subject. "Soy milk, actually. And no eggs, of course. You mixing vegans and vegetarians up. Vegetarians don't eat meat. Vegans take that to a whole new level."

Derek frowned. "Sounds awful."

"So says my dad," Stiles was very close to him. Derek could smell potato chips and coffee stains on his clothes. He wondered the last time Stiles ate a proper meal. "But someone has to look after him, so, vegan pancakes."

"You hungry?" Derek asked before he had the time to process things thoroughly. He regretted it the moment it came out of his mouth. But Stiles shocked face almost made up for it. Almost.

" _What?_ "

Derek resisted the urge to kick himself, but since he had already started it, he might as well finish it. "You said you missed breakfast."

"Oh," Stiles' mouth formed a round, perfect 'O'. "Wait, you actually offering to buy me food?"

"I can tell you I'm already regretting that offer." Once again, Derek crossed his arms against his chest. He turned around and started to walk. He stopped a few steps after as he realized Stiles didn't move from his spot. "So you coming or what?"

Stiles, eyes still wide as plates, began to walk as well. "Where's your car?"

"I walked here," replied Derek.

"Seriously?" Stiles chuckled. "Dropped in all fours and...?"

He must have made a murderous looking face, because Stiles stopped talking immediately.

"Okay," he said, recovering pretty fast. Derek realized it's been awhile since he could actually smell fear on him. "No canine jokes. Got it."

Derek resumed walking. Stiles followed just a step or two behind.

"I can drive, you know," he shrugged after a few seconds.

Derek stopped, considerate it for a second. The place he had in mind was a forty minute walk away. An hour in Stiles' pace, most likely. "Okay," he agreed.

They didn't talk during the fifteen minute drive to a roadside diner ( _Munchers' Seventh Heaven, eating your way to paradise_! it was called). Derek used to eat there with Laura before the fire. Sometimes his mom would make them take Cora along and the little monster kept calling her siblings Mommy and Daddy, to Laura's amusement and Derek's mortification. He felt his chest heavy thinking about his sisters. He didn't think about Cora in awhile. Sometimes Derek wondered what she would look like if she was still alive. She would be about Stiles' age.

The boy sat across from him, ordered a double cheeseburger and curly fries. Derek asked for regular pancakes covered in blackberry syrup. Stiles raised his eyebrows at Derek's choice, but didn't comment further. Derek let him be. They went through most of their respective meals before Stiles started talking about Boyd and Erica. Derek didn't try to stop him. It seemed Stiles did a little digging on his father's files and found out there's been an A.P.B. for them since the night at the Police Station so if they had crossed county' limits someone probably would have seen them.

"Or that whoever took them, did it through the woods." Derek interrupted, stabbing his remaining pancake with his fork. "I already know who did it."

"So you keep telling me," Stiles stopped eating, a couple of half-chewed curly fries in his mouth. It would be a hilarious sight if it wasn't for his solemn looking face. "But unless your wolf buddies can fly or have an actual underground rail network to smuggle people out the county without being spotted for a single soul, I say this: there's a possibility they never left town. We have people patrolling the woods on a regular basis since your sister, you know that? It's been a month, Derek. It's hard to keep two teenagers quiet in the open like that. Especially if one of them is Erica. You know she wouldn't go down without a fight."

"Unless they're already dead." Derek said harshly, feeling a little sick. "That's what you trying to say?"

Stiles raised of his hands, clearly ready to pick up from where he left. He decided to finish chewing up his fries before, though.

"Do you think they're dead?" He asked, in a grave tone of voice. "Do you really think that?"

"No," Derek dropped his shoulders, weary. "But I wouldn't be able to tell."

"Why not?" Stiles seemed puzzled. Derek couldn't blame him. "I thought you had some sort of special connection with your betas, being an Alpha and all that."

"I should have." Derek let out a long sigh. He couldn't see why try to hide that from Stiles any longer. He could use some real help, after all. "But they left. Before Gerard they just... left. It was their choice."

Stiles just stared him. Derek thought he would see pity in those big brown eyes, but instead there's this sense of wonder before the Supernatural he never was able to see in Scott. Derek felt this strange sensation that Stiles would believe him, no matter what.

"And you just _let_ them?" Stiles returned to his unfinished fries. "I mean they're teenagers, couldn't just ground them or something?" He was smiling now. It put Derek at easy a bit.

"I'm not their father, Stiles."

"Well," Stiles looked up, running a greasy hand over his hair and almost jumping off his seat once he realized what he was doing. He grabbed a bunch of paper napkins, trying to clean most of it off his hand. He was obviously unused wearing his hair long enough to have to worry about it. "You sure are acting like a concerned parent right now."

Derek didn't sense mockery on Stiles' words. He thought about him and Laura at those very tables, Cora stealing food from their plates. They're all gone now. Even his new pack, expect for Isaac and Peter. Derek realized he never felt so alone since the fire. He stared at the boy across the table and before a new sort of moment could happen, Derek went for a change of subject.

"Done with the buzz cut, hmm?" He pointed at Stiles' not longer shaved head. His hair was still mostly short to be using products, but already long enough to have a few spikes pointing to all directions.

Stiles snorted. "Funny you asked," he breathed heavily. "Lydia said Jackson's father moved him yesterday. That means she knew he wouldn't be showing up for today's practice _since yesterday_ and she didn't say anything. I mean," Stiles sighed, clutched his hair again. "I don't blame her. I really don't. She sounded so upset, you know? It can't be easy, having to watch the love of your life go away like that, but..."

Derek watched as Stiles put his elbows on the table, chin between his hands. "It's funny because I couldn't have known, but just yesterday I woke up and I looked in the mirror and thought ' _man, this is too damn long_ ' and I actually grabbed the shaver, but I couldn't just bring myself to cut it down?" Stiles blinked like he was having some sort of revelation. "Maybe I'm finally letting it go."

Derek frowned. He thought he had misheard it, even with werewolf hyper senses. "Let it _grow_ , you mean?"

Stiles shook his head, hold a cold curly fry between his fingers.

"Is there a difference?" he asked, serious.

And Derek thought he might have a point there after all.

*

"Stiles, pay attention."

His mom is calling for him. Begin rational, Stiles is well aware that she's dead, so he must be dreaming. Except he's not. He remembers waking up, brushing his teeth, cooking his dad breakfast, minding the several case boxes scattered in their living room (black 'X's marking the closed ones his dad thought it might have some supernatural connection, red's ones, the current, more urgent cases. Stiles offered to help, of course, but his dad told him to focus on school, promising to let him know in case he found an _real_ one). It must be a Saturday, because he didn't go to school.

" _Stiles_."

Oh, right. His mom. She's facing a wall, now, her arms raised against her chest, hands covering her face, like when they used to play hide and seek. Her hair is like before she got worse, long and curly on the edges. Stiles is getting used to it, by now. It's been about two weeks since the lunar eclipse, since the sacrifice, and he had nightmares for every single following night. He had another one just a few hours ago.

_He's driving through the storm. It's difficult to see, but he must drive faster. He needs to find his dad. Like a second thought he wonders if he put on his seatbelt, but forgets it a second later. He crashes then, and he's out for hours and hours. When he finally wakes up, he rushes towards the Nemeton, grabbing his baseball bat on the backseat. Only there he notices he got the wrong one. This bat is made of wood, and it shatters under the weight of the earth. They all die because of him. He's drowning in dirt, suffocating--_

"Stiles, close the door."

He looks over his shoulder, at the entrance door.

"It's already closed, mom." He says, sighs, walks towards her, and raises his hand. "It's okay."

His mom always vanishes after he tries to touch her, the hallucination unable to cope with that. But not this time. His mom turns around, dropping her hands a bit, just to reveal her beautiful smile, her bright eyes. Stiles feels his heart grown inside his chest. God, he misses her so much.

"Don't open it, baby." She says and Stiles frowns. He would have to get outside eventually, but for now he has the luxury to humor her.

"Okay, mom." He promises. "I won't."

"Stiles," she insists, solemn face. "Pay attention."

Stiles is ready to replay that he _is_ when his mom reaches her hands up and wipes away her own face, leaving only a featureless expression behind. Stiles feels like screaming his lungs off, takes a step behind, stumbles in one of his dad's boxes, falls on the floor.

"Stiles?" and suddenly there are hands around his arms, forcing him to stay still.

"No," he closes his eyes, tries to escape from that embrace. "No, no, _please_ \--"

"Stiles!"

Stiles recognizes that voice, blinks at his dad's face. He feels such relief he almost dives into his arms for a hug, but his dad's hands are keeping him in place. He breathes heavily, trying to calm himself.

"Dad," he chokes, eyes on his dad's hands gripping his arms. "Dad, you are not going to believe me," and without even thinking about it, Stiles begins to tell his dad all about his hallucinations with his mom, about what he, Scott and Allison did to save them, about everything. Stiles doesn't even think they promised themselves to not let their parents now the real expense of their sacrifice. Definitively, he hadn't planned to tell his dad he literally _died_ for him.

"Shhh, it's okay," his dad tries to calm him. "I believe you, son. Now, look at me, will you?"

Stiles looks up and unable to move, he watches in terror as his dad proceeds to raise one of his hands and cleans his face off, exactly as his mom did. Stiles actually screams this time. He feels his throat throbbing, his faceless' dad grabbing both of his arms again, preventing him from moving, from escaping. Stiles feels his chest becoming heavy as he forgets how to breathe, the world turning black as everything start to shut down around him and he screams, _screams_ \--

It all stops as if never had even started. Stiles opens his eyes and realizes he's alone, sitting at the kitchen table with his unfinished History homework ( _Understanding international conflicts: The cold war_ , by Joseph Nye), the already familiar string of Wake Up, Wake Up, Wake Up, Wake Up scribbled all over the page before him. He closes it with more strength than it is strictly necessary, but no one could really blame him. From all the things he saw the past few days, today took the damn cake. At least he hasn't actually told his dad about the whole sacrifice business. Thank God for the small favors.

Stiles fishes his phone out of his pocket to check how much time he lost, but is immediately distracted by the alarming amount of missing calls from Lydia. Before he gets the chance to hit the call button, The Decemberists' _Culling of the Fold_ starts to play as Lydia's name shows up on the screen. (' _You take him by the teeth / Get him down on his knees / With your hands all shaking / That'll teach him how to take it_ ' it sings sharply, before Stiles can pull himself together to actually answer the call).

"Hey," he says, trying really hard not to sound like someone who just hallucinated with his faceless' parents.

"Where are you?" Lydia asks hastily. "I tried calling like ten times."

"Sorry, I forgot my phone on silent," he mumbles, running his hand over his face. "What's up?"

"I-," Lydia starts, clearing hesitant. Well, Stiles isn't rushing anyone. "I need you to take me to Derek's loft."

Stiles blinks, slowly. He opens his textbook and there are the bunch of _Wake Up_ s still all scribbled down. So, not dreaming or hallucinating. Okay.

" _What?_ " He asks then, trying not to sound too surprise and failing miserly.

"Don't make me say it twice," she says with impatience. "The Jeep is still at the garage? I can pick you up in ten."

"Whoa, whoa!" Stiles protests. "Let's say twenty, okay?" 

He barely has the time to change from his pajamas into a red jeans and a blue t-shirt too big for him (past time to do laundry, Stiles takes note), before Lydia is honking her horn on the driveway. Stiles wonders if she wasn't parked around the corner the whole time and decides he's better off not knowing.

"I thought it through," Lydia explains as they drive across town, her manicured fingernails tapping against the steering wheel. "I've being avoiding it, since that night. I won't do it anymore."

Stiles watches as Lydia bits on her lower lip, lipstick staining her teeth red. "I was getting used to find those bodies, you know?" Her voice sounds tired and wise beyond her years. Stiles gazes at her, amazed and terrified. "But watching Mrs. Blake actually _kill_ that werewolf?" Lydia twitches, openly, like the very memory gave her chills.

Stiles knew the difference. He still remembers being paralyzed at the garage's floor, as a douchebag mechanic begged for his life.

"I want to control it," Lydia says, heels pressing the gas pedal. "I want to help."

"Okay, then," Stiles nods, understands. "But why there?"

Lydia stays silent for a few seconds before saying "Peter" in a small, shy voice.

Stiles doesn't hide his exasperation. "What about him?"

"Don't give me that look." Lydia rolls her eyes. "If it was up to me I would buy the tallest stiletto I could find just to stab his eyeballs with it."

Stiles beams at the idea. "That's something we could even sell tickets for, you know?"

"I'll keep that in mind." Lydia snorts. "It's just... the last time I was there he made me say it, you know? Aloud."

"Sorry?"

"We're trying to convince Derek to run, you know? But he just won't listen."

Stiles grimaces. ' _You did run in the end, didn't you, Derek?_ ', he thinks, slightly bitter.

"So," Lydia continues. "Peter asks me what I _felt_ over there."

Derek running away is properly wiped out Stiles' mind, his attention back to Lydia. He notices how they managed to arrive to Derek's building in less than fifteen minutes.

"And what did you feel?" 

Lydia parks the car, turns off the engine. She looks up through the window, her expression gloomy.

"That I was standing in a graveyard." She steps out of the car. Stiles follows her. "Give me a hand with that."

Lydia had loaded her trunk with a couple of boxes. Stiles thinks of his dad's old cases in their house. With a sigh, he helps her with them. They're pretty heavy. "What's that, rocks?"

"Yearbooks, actually," she shrugs, closes the trunk with a thud. "You have the key to his loft, right?"

"Yeah," Stiles replies nonchalant. He let Scott believed he got it the night they broke in the vault, but he had it earlier, when he helped them searching for Erica and Boyd during the summer. It's not biggie, but he still couldn't bring himself to tell Scott about that.

"So," Lydia says, rubbing her hands, once they got inside. "Are we going to talk about the werewolf in the room?"

Stiles almost drops the boxes he's carrying. He didn't forget the kiss. Couldn't ever forget the kiss. But Stiles is not sure he's ready to talk about it just yet. Talking is to have to _think_ about it too, about what he felt, where that left them. He used to feel safe loving Lydia from afar. Having her maybe giving him some sort of actual consideration? It's too good to be true.

"Hmm," he starts, not certain of what to say. But maybe is for the best, right? Rip off the band-aid. "Sure, why not?"

"Great," she looks positively relieved, sits, crosses her legs. "You see, Allison doesn't want to talk about it. She and Isaac can't keep their eyes off each other's faces, but every time I try to ask if there's something going on, she just shuts me down. So, what's your significant other has to say on the matter?"

Stiles has a hard time processing it. "You want to talk about Scott, Allison and Isaac?" He manages, barely. "That's the... _werewolf_ in the room?"

"Well, should I have said werewolves, plural?" Lydia grins. "Come on, Stiles, what other star-crossed lovers do we know?"

Stiles could think of a few. He looks around the room, thinks about Derek and his terrible taste in girls. How they kept trashing his home and killing people close to him. Literally. If Derek ever comes back, they're going to have _words_. He could try online dating. Tick off the filter for crazy, mass murdering.

"Scott seems alright in that front, you know?" Stiles shrugs, sits by her side. "He isn't talking much about it, actually. All busy in being the Alpha now. I imagine there's a conflict of interests there, though. I mean, his beta, his ex-girlfriend? It can't be easy."

"Yeah," Lydia agrees. "Allison's also all busy with the training and the new code, have you heard about it?"

"Yep, it's pretty awesome of her, actually." At least someone is actually doing something about the possible threats. He on the other hand, well. Stiles has a house full of cold cases' boxes and a mind full of ghosts. He needs to hit the books and Google and be prepared, put that freaking insomnia to good use. "Not catchy as the former one, still."

Lydia sighs. "Alright, our turn." She opens one of the boxes, chooses a book at random, stares at it for a few seconds. "I'm not sure what to do now."

"You did some research, I assume?"

"Of course I did," she scowls at him, "But it wasn't of much help. I mean, it just says banshees are usually seen by a person who is about to die in a violent manner... but last time it happened I just went and found the bodies. I'm not sure anyone actually _saw_ me before it? And it also says some families could have banshees attached to them, so they could indicate the forthcoming death a member of that family. But I guess I'm not the case? I mean, I _wailed_ for all sorts of people, different families and all."

Stiles looks at the yearbook on her hands. Well, he doesn't have a better plan. "So what's your idea? To look at the pictures and sees if anything feels off?"

"Well, yes. But even if I do, how do we know it is indeed some sort of... impending supernatural violent death and not just, I don't know, regular old age death?"

"In Beacon Hills?" Stiles thinks about the Nemeton and Deaton's warning. He thinks about his dreams, his hallucinations, his mom wiping her face off. "I'd say we cover all the bases."

Lydia doesn't say anything further. She starts to turn the pages.

"Try sliding your hand over the photos? Close your eyes, think about what Peter said." Stiles watches as Lydia does as he suggests. "What do you feel, Lydia?"

She exhales deeply. Stiles can see rapidly movements behind her eyelids, her hands touching the glossy paper with obviously concern. Her lips are slightly parted, moving slowing, like she's muttering a song. Her front teeth still has traces of red lipstick and Stiles smiles, thinks how great it is to have Lydia completely aware and on board of the supernatural business. She probably would help save lives in a way he never could.

"Here," she says after a few minutes, her hand over a picture of a boy. "There's something here."

Stiles releases the book from her hands, staring at the face of a teenager name Tyler Archer. He doesn't recognize him, but the picture looks pretty dated. Stiles turns the cover.

"This is from 1996, so he must be in his thirties now." He looks at the picture and thinks what sort of violent death is lurking around. That's when he realizes Lydia is positively distressed, biting her lower lip, hands shaking. "Lydia, what's it?"

"Stiles," she whispers like there's someone else there, hidden, listing to them. "This man is going to die. I don't know how or why, but he's going to die soon."

"Alright, alright. I'll call my dad, okay?" He picks his phone, dials. "They can find him in time, right? It's going to be okay."

His dad answers almost immediately. "Dad," Stiles hesitates, unsure of how to bring it. Their relationship is decidedly better, but it is still hard to burst out things like _I think someone I never saw before is going to die in a horrified supernatural way_. "You busy?" he asks instead, testing the waters. "Any odd cases lately?"

"Stiles," his dad says in his drop the bullshit' voice. Stiles is extremely familiar with it.

"Look, there's no easy way to say it, but we think someone named Tyler Archer is going to die."

" _We?_ "

"Me and Lydia. She..." Stiles doesn't remember if they have actually talked about Lydia's powers. The past weeks were pretty eventful. "She can sense those things, you know? When someone is about to die?"

The sheriff stays silence on the receiver. And stays. Stiles thinks about the boy on the yearbook, pictures a man with a wife and small children. He starts to panic. "Dad, please, you have to believe me."

"I do, son." His voice sounds deep, almost sad. "I believe you. Look, I'm going to check this Tyler Archer person, but in the meantime, why don't the two of you come over the station? There's actually some things that I'd like you to take a look. No one died yet, but I think it is right up your street."

Lydia agrees, but as her hands won't stop shaking it's Stiles who drives. They arrive at the Police Station in less than ten minutes. Stiles notices how it look pretty busy for a Saturday afternoon. He leads Lydia inside, but doesn't spot his father anywhere. The woman on the reception says his dad had to leave for a minute, but if Stiles wants, he could wait on his office. She eyes Lydia suspiciously, though.

"She's with me," Stiles says, grabs Lydia's hand. "Come on, Lydia."

His dad most likely left the cases he wants Stiles to look on his desk, so he and Lydia could get some work done before he returns.

Except there's already someone on his dad's office. Good looking guy in his mid twenties, about Stiles' height, brown hair and green eyes. He's wearing a police uniform, but Stiles is pretty sure he never saw him before. An officer from a city nearby, most likely.

"Can I help you?" They both ask at the same time.

The guy laughs. Stiles feels out of place, not used in having a total strange looking comfortable on his dad's office. He can't help thinking of Scott's dad, peering around, like he owned the place. Maybe that's one of his men, Stiles thinks, his guards up at once.

"I'm sorry," the guy puts down a file. "I didn't know they allowed witnesses wander around the station, not matter how gorgeous they look."

Stiles rolls his eyes. Great, now the guy is hitting on Lydia _in front of him_. He lets go off her hand, puts himself between the two of them.

"Look, pal," Stiles bites. "I don't know who you are, and I don't care you have a firearms permit or what, but I'm pretty sure you have no business here."

"And he's got a little fight. I like that." He winks blatantly at Lydia, who seems to be enjoying the moment way too much. "You're a lucky girl, this one is a keeper."

Stiles' face burns hot and he's abruptly out of words. He can practically _feel_ Lydia's smug smirk piercing on his back. He's excused to say anything, though, because his dad miraculously arrives, a pile of files on his arms.

"Parrish, good, you here." He hands the guy, Parrish, the files and turns around to look at them. "Seems you already met my son Stiles? Stiles, this is my new Deputy. Parrish, that's Stiles' friend, Lydia Martin."

On the bright side, Stiles considers, at least he's not the one who just hit on his boss' underage son. Deputy Parrish looks like he's about to pass out. He clutches the files on his arms and excuses himself with a respectful nod, before dashing out of the room.

"He's still a bit shy, don't worry, he'll come around," his dad shrugs. Stiles positively avoids making eye contact with Lydia. "Right, I checked the name you gave me. Tyler Archer? You're right. The guy was just admitted to the hospital. Nervous breakdown, signs of a heart attack, hanging by a tether."

"But," Lydia frowns. "I mean, a heart attack? There's nothing... _bizarre_ about it, right?"

His dad crosses his arms, makes a face, looks at Stiles. "There's what I wanted to talk to you about," he hesitates, grabs a couple of file over his desk. "Parish was the one who made the initial contact. Needless to say, he was pretty confused when I told him it was worth to pursuit. He just thought people are trying on an earlier Halloween prank or something."

Stiles doesn't grab the files immediately, eyeing the cardboard folders suspicious. He has a terrible feeling he already knows what's written down.

"What's happened?" he asks, looks up his dad. "What did they see?"

"That's the strangest thing. They all reported seeing different people, relatives, close ones, mostly. Except," His dad pauses. "Except when they started talking to them, these people reached their hands up..."

"And wiped away their own faces." Stiles finishes it, sighs, drops his shoulders. 

"Yes, exactly. Mr. Archer is the first real victim, though. The others were just scared for life." His dad says. "Wait, have you heard about it before? Do you know what it is?" He asks, curious, his detective brain trying to find answers, to link leads. Stiles looks between his dad and Lydia.

"Not really," he deflects, not in slightly ready to tell his dad about his hallucinations. "But I'll look up, okay? Lydia, would you give me a ride home?"

On their way out of the Station, Stiles sees Deputy Parrish walking in his direction with his face hide on a case file and in his attempt to get out of the way as fast as he can, Stiles stumbles on a woman coming through the door, making her drop her bag. Feeling mortified, Stiles knees, reaches for its contents.

" _Shit_ ," he curses as he picks up a battered copy of Machiavelli's _The Prince_. It seems an antique and Stiles' embarrassment reaches alarming levels. "God, I'm so sorry."

"Don't worry, it is alright." She replies, smiling at him, accepting the book back. Her eyes are dark brown, her skin an olive tone close to Scott's. As she walks away, Stiles realizes he couldn't place her accent.

On their way home, Lydia inquires him about what he knows in detail. He skips most of the part about his mom, but tells her of his dreams and the featureless' face he saw that morning. She's trusting him to help her control her powers, so it doesn't seem right to hide what's happening with him. _Quid pro quo_. She drops the subject after that and nudges him about Deputy Parrish. Stiles doesn't know what to say, unfamiliar with being the center of someone's attention like that. It's usually Scott people hit on, especially after the bite. He thinks about it, starts to laugh.

"What?" Asks Lydia, frowning.

"Nothing," he says. "I just need to tell Scott that I _am_ attractive to gay guys after all."

Lydia rolls her eyes, but smiles as she waves Stiles goodbye after dropping him on his front yard.

Once Stiles finishes climbing the stairs of his room, he realizes he's ready to sleep for decades. Instead, he takes quick a shower, makes some coffee and flips his laptop open. For hours he tries several combinations of words ("people without faces", "featureless people", "awful looking faceless people" etc.), but other than making himself terrible uncomfortable, he's unable to find anything useful. Stiles gives up, sinks on his mattress, thinks about jerking off just to relax, but decides he's not really in the mood. Not with his featureless mom's face still clinging in his memory.

It doesn't take long for him to start dreaming. It's the usual.

 _Stiles is driving through the storm. It's difficult to see, but he must drive faster. Lydia and Cora are there, with him. They need to save Derek. Except they're not driving to the loft, but to the school. Stiles turns around to ask Lydia what the hell they're doing there, but she's gone. Cora is unconscious on the backset and Stiles reaches for her, afraid she might not be breathing, but once he manages to touch her arm, her whole body turns into ashes. He tries to scream, but finds out he just can't. He's underwater, drowning, something pulling him down. He looks over and sees Derek's body, a heavy iron chain locking their wrists together. Stiles realizes he's going to die unless Derek wakes up. He grabs Derek by his shirt, pulls him close, slaps him, repeatedly. He needs Derek to wake up, he needs_ \--

And just like that, Stiles is no longer sleeping. He breathes once, twice, calming his heart. He feels cold sweat against his skin. The image of Derek unconscious under his hand is raw, like a gash oozing blood. He fumbles for his phone on the nightstand, drops his box of tissue on floor. His cell phone displays it's three in the morning sharp.

 _The Devil's hour_ , says a voice on his mind.

Stiles ignores it, sits on the bed, looks for his contact's list, selects a number, opens an empty text box. Before he can get cold feet, he types three words: _r u awake?_ , hits send.

And he waits.

 

_Hey you_  
 _Standing in the aisle_  
 _With itchy feet and fading smile_  
 _Can you feel me?_

_Hey you_  
 _Don't help them to bury the light_  
 _Don't give in, without a fight_  
 **Pink Floyd – Hey you**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is slightly longer than the first, but there's actual plot (at least I like to think it has), so I needed more space, hmm, sorry? I already started the third one, but I have a big exam coming up next week, so though I'll try really hard to finish it in time to update by Monday, I can't guarantee. Knowing there's people actually waiting for it could work as an incentive, though. :)
> 
>  **For reference:** I know each people have their own hair grow rate, but regarding this chapter's flashback (and assuming Stiles didn't buzz his head for a little more than a month), I picture his hair looking more or less like [ this](http://hairstyles.thehairstyler.com/hairstyle_views/front_view_images/5011/original/Dylan-O_Brien.jpg) at that point.


	3. That it's dreadful imposition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What happens," Stiles starts, thoughtful. "I mean, if he ever comes back?"
> 
> "What do you mean?" Scott asks.
> 
> "I mean, now you're like... Batman, right? Derek will be your Robin or something?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [Kimiko](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kimiko_Tsuki/pseuds/Kimiko_Tsuki) for taking a look on the first part of the original version of this chapter.

"Gonna tell me what's that all about?"

Stiles stops eating, fork halfway to his mouth. On the other side of the table, Scott presses his lips in a sympathetic smile, his anxiety evident. It makes Stiles uncomfortable, but it may be the opportunity he's been waiting since the lunar eclipse.

"I'm fine as you are, buddy," he wriggles his eyebrows, takes a bite of his tasteless cafeteria food. "We're alright, right?"

"That's not fair, man," Scott sighs, drops his shoulders. "I'm not the one hallucinating in the middle of Finstock's class."

" _Yet_ ," Stiles replies. "Also, in my defense, it's goddamn economics. I'm sure the hallucinations are just a kind way my brain found out to deal with the most tedious subject in the History of mankind."

Scott grins. "That's why on that midterm exam you wrote about circumcision instead of _Distribution of Income_ and _Productive Resources?_ "

Stiles puts down his fork this time. The look on his face makes clear he's familiar with people who weaponize wolfsbane for living and that not afraid of using his connections. He grabs a bottle of water, opens it, but doesn't drink.

"I thought we agreed to never talk about that."

" _What_ ," teases Scott, "about your two long week obsession with people cutting off people's dicks?"

"Don't go down that road, bro," he warns. Stiles thinks about his dad's deputy and realizes he still hasn't told Scott about that. "You might not like what you find."

"I'm worried about you," Scott says, quiet, eyes huge. Stiles takes pity on him. "You smell of exhaustion."

Stiles finally drinks his water, just to have something to do with his hands. "You can't just smell _exhaustion_."

"Actually I can," he blinks. "You smell worse than my mom does after a thirty-six hours shift." Scott sighs, points to him. "And even if I couldn't, your eyes looks like you got punched in the face."

Stiles doesn't answer, not even to protest the reversal of roles. Usually, he's the one going all Sherlock on Scott. It's weird being looked after. Unsettling, even. He doesn't have the energy to discuss it further, though. After Derek hung up, he had tried to go back to sleep, but he just couldn't. So he put on the first clothes he could find, climbed down the stairs, trying to not stumble on his dad's boxes, and grabbed his aluminum bat on his way out. Standing on his street in the dead of the night, Beacon Hills looked different, peaceful even. Stiles had about three hours of nighttime to kill so he just started to walk.

"I went to the Nemeton," he blurts out. "Last night. I just..."

"You couldn't sleep." Scott nods. "I scented dirt on your shoes, but I just though you dad made you mow the lawn or something."

"Scott," Stiles pushes his half eaten plate out of the way, stops for a moment. He puts aside his water as well, fumbles with his hands for a few moments. "Something is going to happen."

Scott flinches, looks around, but there's no one paying attention to them. "Something is already happening. I can feel it. It... it's like, a change in the air." He sighs again, shakes his head. "Also, my mom told me since yesterday four different people had been admitted at the hospital claiming they saw someone with their faces wiped out. She says they're all sent to the Psych Wing."

"They're not crazy, I saw it too." Stiles was planning to let Scott know that in a different manner, but now is probably as good as any other time. "I saw my mom, and my dad. It was... Scott, it was terrifying."

Scott looks like he's about to get up from his seat and punch the first person he finds. Instead, he stays silent for a moment, like he's thinking of what to say. Stiles watches as Scott's expression suddenly changes, as if he'd just scented or heard something. If he was wolfed out, his ears would probably be perking up.

"What?" Stiles asks.

"Nothing," Scott answers way too quickly, looking over his shoulder, then turning back in less than a second. "Nothing."

Stiles follows the direction Scott looked and sees the Asian girl who sits behind them in English. She hides her face in a book once she notices his eyes on her. Stiles looks back a Scott, who seems unhealthily fascinated by the apple on his hand.

"You dog, when were you planning to tell me?" he asks, pauses for a second. "You were going to tell me, right?"

Scott looks positively guilty. "There's nothing to tell, dude. I just gave her a ride home the other day."

Stiles puts his elbows over the table. He rests his chin in one of his hands, wistful. "You just gave her a ride home."

"Well," Scott starts. "I had a free period, so I went to the library to finish my History essay and she was there and she smiled at me and I asked her name and she asked mine and that's it, I thought she would never look at me again, but when I was leaving, she was in the parking lot and she looked so worried, and she keep checking her phone, so I asked what's going on and she said her mom's car broke down and--"

"And then you gave her a ride home."

Scott shrugs. "I had my extra helmet."

Stiles smiles. It's a strange thing to have his friend seeming genuinely interested in a girl who wasn't Allison. Stiles likes Allison just fine, but that's progress, right? 

"She's seems nice." He says. "What's her name again?"

"Kira."

"That's cool, man." Stiles grins. "It's like dating the bad guy from Death Note."

Scott looks confuse for a second. "We're not dating."

"Of course you aren't," Stiles smiles. He thinks it's nice to be having this normal conversation with Scott, he doesn't want to ruin it by accidentally suggesting his potential new-Allison has something to do with the crazy side of Beacon Hills. "You just gave her a ride home. I mean, you give me ride homes all the time."

Scott nods, stops for a second. "Are you being sarcastic?" 

Stiles laughs. "A little bit, yes." He breathes, grabs his bottle of water again. Decides he's done teasing Scott for the moment. In fact, he's such a good friend he's going to share, too. Maybe tell him about Deputy Parish? Give Scott something to tease him back a little.

"Derek called me," Stiles says instead, and immediately wonders where the hell that came from. He watches as Scott's eyes go huge and rushes to explain it. "Actually, I texted him and then he called me."

"What?" Scott looks put off for a second, but recovers pretty fast. "I mean, is he okay?"

"Yeah," Stiles thinks about it. "I mean, I didn’t really ask him. He sounded okay, I guess."

"But why did you text him?" Scott stops, frowns. "It has something to do with--"

Stiles feels lost. He has no idea what Scott is talking about. Actually, that's not half-true. Scott could be talking about a lot of things, none of which he should have any inside knowledge of. Stiles feels nervous, conscious of the fact Scott could smell it on him.

"What?" He asks, not in the mood to guess his way out of this. 

Now Scott seems decidedly anxious, like he's trying to decide whether something really worth talking about. His shoulders tense up, nothing like the harmless teasing about Kira a moment ago. "It has something to do with what you guys did during the summer, when you were helping him?" Scott asks, looking real serious.

Stiles chokes on his water, coughs loudly, doesn't even think about denying it. He planned having this conversation a few times and none of them include Scott already knowing about it.

"You knew," he utters with difficulty, "How?"

"I didn't, not in the beginning." Scott doesn't look offended or in any way hurt. It makes Stiles feel worse. "You never wanted to talk about what you're doing and the few times we met to play lacrosse I just... kind of caught Derek's scent on you?" Stiles must have made a face, because Scott hurried to raise his arms. "No, not like _that_ , I mean, more like, I don't know... you ran into him on the grocery store and you two chatted for a bit or something?"

"But then, when school began and you went like 'doesn't he have his hands a little full' and man, I didn't even think about Erica and Boyd all summer, I was so focused in--"

"Working on the 'be a better Scott McCall' program?"

Scott rolls his eyes at him. "I knew that something was off and you didn't look too surprised when Derek talked about the Alpha pack. In fact, you looked..."

"Guilty?"

"No exactly," he says. "More like pissed off."

Stiles exhales, hard. He hadn't noticed he'd been treasuring that secret for so long. "Man, I was," he says, finally. "I mean, you were doing so fine and then we were like going to drag you back into that mess?"

"That's not your fault." Scott says. "Or Derek's, for that matter."

Stiles thinks about Derek. About his need to bite Isaac, Erica and Boyd, to build a new pack, (' _Maybe we should let him_ ', he hears himself saying to Scott, a lifetime ago, ' _You said Derek's giving them a choice, right_ '?) to feel powerful.

"Oh no, it _was_ his fault." He thinks of Erica's rotten body, of Boyd's blood on Derek's hands. Derek looking over the Nemeton, raw guilt in his eyes. Stiles feels his heart tighten. "A little bit, at least."

Scott doesn't say anything, just looks back in an understanding sort of way. Stiles reaches out, punches him friendly on the shoulder. "Why didn't you say anything?" he asks, still puzzled. 

Scott shrugs. "I figured you'd tell me when you were ready."

"Now I feel like a douchebag," Stiles drops his head. "Man, I feel like Derek."

Scott stares at him from across the table, before bursting into laughter. Stiles laughs a bit, too, but stops quickly. It's been awhile since Derek stopped being an inside joke to him and Scott. Now they're all friends, of a sort, and Stiles realizes he misses him.

"Do you think he will come back?" He asks before he can stop himself.

"I don't know," Scott shrugs. "Do you want him to come back?"

Stiles doesn't really have to think about it. "Yes," he says. "He used to be a jerk 99% of the time, but there's this one percent that really made a difference, you know?"

Scott nods, looks sideways. "Back then, right after school started I thought--" then he stops, like he got punched in the arm.

"What?" questions Stiles.

"Nothing." Scott looks guilty this time, just like when he spotted Kira a few minutes earlier. Stiles stares at him in disbelief until he cracks. "Okay, okay... it's stupid, I know, but I thought for a second that you two--"

" _No_ ," Stiles gets it immediately. "No, you didn't."

"I know, I know," Scott hides his face in his hands. "It's just... you two just looked pretty, I don't know, comfortable around each other?"

"Dude," Stiles starts playing with his food. "Trust me, if I ever manage to tap anyone that hot you'd be the first to know. I'll send you pictures."

Scott looks suddenly very serious. "Please, don't."

Stiles smirks, but doesn't push it. Scott never sent him pictures of a naked Allison, though he spoke of it in vivid detail. "What happens," Stiles starts, thoughtful. "I mean, if he ever comes back?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, now you're like... Batman, right? Derek will be your Robin or something?"

Scott scowls. "I don't know, man. It's weird to think like that. I mean, Derek acted as much like a dick to me when a beta as when an alpha." He shrugs. "I don't think it changes much."

"Yeah, you never acted much like Batman to be honest." Stiles is not ready to drop his comics' analogies, even if people don't seem to fully appreciate them. "I always thought you acted more like Superman. No gray areas. Which means everything is okay as long you're in Metropolis and Derek stays in Gotham City."

Scott shakes his head, hides a smile.

 _Except Beacon Hills feels more like Gotham now than ever_ , Stiles thinks, gloomy. He can't help picturing Derek dressed as Batman and it feels really weird. He's not sure they're close enough for this kind of thing.

Luckily, he's excused of thinking on it further as Lydia shows up with one of the Twins of Evil on her heels. Stiles still doesn't know how to tell them apart, but since they're not, like, holding hands, he figures this one must be Ethan. Lydia takes the vacant sit by Scott's side. She looks deadly serious.

"What?" Asks Stiles, eyeing Evil Twin with suspicion.

"I think I know what the faceless things are." She announces. "Actually, Ethan here thinks Danny knows."

Scott looks at him. Stiles looks back, nods slowly.

"Wait," he starts, looking at Ethan, who seems absolutely nervous to be around them. Stiles wonders if it's Scott's Alpha mojo or Stiles' previous threat of impaling him with a branch of Mountain ash. "Does Danny know about this supernatural crap now? Did you tell him his boyfriend turns fury once in a month? Does he know you helped to kill one of his colleagues?"

"Stiles," Lydia shakes her head, eyes pleading. He thinks about her being kept in the dark for so long and feels terrible. "Everyone knows about those faceless things now. It's in the news and everything."

"Alright," Scott interrupts, indicates the empty seat by Stiles' side to Ethan, who reluctantly takes it. "So, Ethan. What Danny say?"

Ethan looks around, as Scott did earlier. Except for Kira, a few tables away with her face hidden in a book, Stiles doesn't recognize anyone else. Ethan seems to think for a second before he starts talking.

"Apparently those things are called 'Mujina' in Hawaii, where his family is from. But Lydia here looked it up and in Japan they're known by the name of 'Noppera-bo', a kind of faceless ghost."

"This thing was apparently last sighted on 1959, in Kāhala, next to Honolulu," starts Lydia, pulling a note book out from her bag. "They claimed to have watched a woman combing her hair in the women's restroom of the Waialae Drive-In Theatre, but when the witness came close enough, the woman turned, revealing her featureless face. They were then admitted to the hospital for a nervous breakdown. Does it ring any bells?"

Stiles thinks about his mom (' _Stiles, close the door_ '). "Yep," he says, looks between Lydia and Scott, ignores Ethan. "Did you find how we stop this... Nopero thingy?"

"Noppera-bo," offers Lydia. "And no," she looks down at her notes. "It just says that thought known primarily for frightening humans, Noppera-bo are usually otherwise harmless." She continues to read on. "' _They appear at first as ordinary human beings, sometimes impersonating someone familiar to the victim, before causing their features to disappear, leaving a blank, smooth sheet of skin where their face should be_ '." Stiles closes his eyes, pictures his mom, can almost smell her perfume. He breathes through his nose, tries to control his heartbeat, opens his eyes again. 

Lydia turns a page. "This other website claims that ' _the creatures are said to be driven only by the intention of scaring those around them, seemingly feeding off of the fear and gaining energy from it. As the stories go the Noppera-bo are not inherently evil, though their actions may make it seem that way to those around them_ '."

Scott looks doubtful at this. To him, anyone putting people in the hospital is potentially evil. Lydia sighs, continuing to read. "' _Traditional legends of the creatures in Japanese folklore suggest they are able to transform only their faces, but doing so often leaves any witnesses so distraught that there is no consoling them. The most common theme in the legends is that the victim, after seeing the creature, escapes and begins telling either a loved one or a stranger about the encounter. The person attempting to console them is sympathetic at first, but then reveals their true colors as they reach their hands up and wipe away their own faces revealing there is nothing to escape the horror of the Noppera-bo. The most terrifying aspect of the story is allegedly that the creatures can mimic anyone the victim knows, making it difficult for them to trust anyone afterward_ '."

"That doesn't sound very good," says Ethan. Scott nods in agreement. Lydia closes her note book with a thud, pulls out a pocket mirror and lipstick.

"And most importantly, doesn't say how we deal with it." Stiles ran a hand over his face. God, he's so tired. "Alright, Scott, think Deaton can help?"

Scott shrugs. "I can try, but I mean, Japanese mythology? It looks a bit out of his area."

Stiles nods. Scott grabs his things and walks out of the cafeteria. Stiles notices he waves at Kira on his way out.

"Lydia," he turns to her, watches as she finishes retouching her make-up. "You'll talk to Allison? Maybe the Argents stumbled upon this thing before?"

"Already did that," she smirks. "She will let me know as soon as she finds something, but now you are here." She pockets her things. "I actually have another favor to ask."

"And I think I'll-," Ethan puts his hands on the tabletop, ready to get up.

"You stay right there," hisses Lydia, turning back to Stiles. "Ethan and Danny had a fight this morning. It's not their first one." She sighs when Ethan looks away. "They've been fighting since the full moon, because Ethan stayed out of commission for a few days and couldn't pick up his phone to let him know he was okay." Lydia punctuates these last words with dripping sarcasm. Stiles feels so proud.

"What was I supposed to do? Say, hey, Danny, I'm a werewolf and my brother and I were almost killed off by a crazy druid so I'm sorry I couldn't meet you at Macy's like I promised?"

Stiles doesn't believe he's actually having this conversation.

"Well," he interrupts. "Danny had a hard time, you see. The last guy he dated was a douche with capital 'D'," _Not that his love life has improved much in this aspect_ , Stiles thinks. He thinks of Cora shaking in tears over Boyd's dead body. He thinks of his hands touching Derek's trembling shoulders. "And his best friend, who also happens to be a werewolf and an ex-murderous lizard, almost died and then, fled the country." Stiles glances at Lydia, but she doesn't seem distressed at the mention of Jackson. "You can't really blame him for being mad when you didn't show up."

Ethan doesn't reply, but he looks guilty. Stiles feels pretty good with himself. He turns to Lydia. "What do you need?"

Lydia and Ethan share a look right before she answers. "I just need a place and I was thinking, since it doesn't look like Derek's coming back anytime soon, maybe we could use his--"

"Whoa, wait, _wait_." Stiles raises one of his hands. "You want to what, make Danny a candlelight dinner at the place this one here helped to kill Boyd? It can't be very romantic."

Ethan looks like he's about to pass out. Or punch Stiles. Possibly both. Lydia rolls her eyes.

"Of course not, that would be insensible," she beams, pulls something out of her bag. It looks like a blueprint of what resembles Derek's loft, with a lot of details scribbled down on her perfect handwriting. "I just want to throw a Halloween party."

*

 _~ Three months ago_.

 

"How's Scott?"

Stiles dropped his lacrosse stick as he jumped at the sound of Derek's voice, his heart racing.

" _God_ ," he hissed, turning to face the werewolf standing by his window. "I hate when you guys do that."

Derek smirked, briefly. "I texted you I was coming over." He said in his defense, shrugging.

Stiles picked the stick from the ground, threw it on the bed with the rest of his lacrosse gear. "No _that_ ," he frowned. "As much as I don't approve of your lurking habits, I was referring to this..." Stiles gestured around his nose. "Creepy scenting thing. How did you know I was with Scott?"

"Is that an actual question?" Derek asked, brow furrowed.

Stiles rolled his eyes, and didn't reply. Derek obviously could smell that he and Scott have been playing lacrosse for the most part of the day. It was one of the few things they could do together without having to talk too much. Scott didn't have to talk about his feelings regarding Allison being in a different continent. Stiles didn't have to worry that Scott would find out about his encounters with Derek regarding Erica and Boyd's whereabouts. They played lacrosse so Stiles didn't have to lie to his best friend.

"God, I hate you sometimes," Stiles said weakly, pulling off his sweaty t-shirt. "What do you need, anyway? The police don't have any news leads on them. Do you need me to Google something?"

Derek watched in silence as Stiles stripped down to his pants, his nostrils flaring vividly as the layers dropped one by one, the smell of sweat probably growing stronger. Stiles stopped as he reached for a towel, noticing Derek hasn't moved from his spot.

"Dude, stop staring, that's not cool." Derek blinked at Stiles' words, but didn't avert his eyes. "You seriously came over just to make me feel uncomfortable? 'Cause you're getting there."

"Why don't you just tell Scott about this?"

Stiles turned to face him. He inhaled deeply, once.

"Because he will want to help." He replied, punctuating the words. "You know that. He has like this pathology to think everything in the world is his responsibility."

Derek made a face. Stiles knew that face. It was his _I'm still mad because Scott didn't tell me stuff_ face. Stiles was made very familiar with that face the past three months. Usually he would just ignore it and move on, but Stiles was in a bad mood. He was too tired and too sweaty and he wanted to shower and eat something and maybe watch some porn on his computer. He didn't want to play guess with a sulky ex-fugitive werewolf who enjoyed criticizing every mention of his best friend's name with his very hairy eyebrows. And he definitely didn't want to do that in his bedroom while dressed only in his pants. That would be very difficult to explain to his dad.

"Look, Derek," Stiles begun, both hands on his waist. "I know you are all Mister I Have Trust Issues..."

As he uttered those very words Stiles couldn't help thinking about Kate Argent. When he figured out she was responsible for the fire (' _Would you prefer I locked him in the basement and burned the whole house down around him?_ ') he became obsessed in finding out _how_ she actually did it. Since Peter slashed her throat open, getting Kate's version of the events would be tricky, though. Chris Argent obviously didn't know anything about that (' _Oh, right. Derek said you guys had a code. I guess no one ever breaks it_.'), so it left only Allison to offer him some insight. And Stiles didn't even have to ask. Allison was so distressed about the things her aunt did she just dumped everything on Scott's willing ears.

Stiles didn't know if Scott or even Allison reached out the same conclusion he did. Probably not. Scott always struggled to see the good in people and Allison, trapped in the eye of the hurricane, just couldn't have shared Stiles' privileged point of view. Standing outside, with years expended watching his dad picking up small pieces to form a whole picture, Stiles perceived the things Allison told Scott under a very different light.

So when Scott talked about Kate encouraging her niece to 'be all over that' as the two of them watched Jackson on the lacrosse field, Stiles just dismissed Scott's jealousy tone and paid special attention to the part where Kate revealed her longing of finding herself in high school again (' _Maybe just as a substitute teacher_ ', Scott believed it was Allison's exact words, then) and he saw the kind of predator even his dad avoided talking about.

The Hales lived in Beacon Hills for generations, they would be aware if a hunter from a famous family started to hover over their property, unless... unless they aren't. Unless the hunter found their way in without being noticed, befriending a member of the pack, perhaps?

And when Scott told him about Allison's shocked reaction on finding Derek chained up down in the Hale House cellar, about how Kate bragged over his body, asking her niece if Derek wasn't beautiful, then calling him a 'dumb animal'... Even with Scott's paraphrasing of Allison's words... it did take Stiles a few weeks, but he eventually gathered enough to feel deeply disgusted. That's when he finally understood why Derek couldn't just trust him, not even once, not even as Stiles struggled to keep his body afloat in a swimming pool. So, yes, he knew Derek had trust issues.

"And I understand that." Stiles said with sincerity, watched powerless as Derek looked back at him, doubtful. And Stiles just didn't see himself sharing what he knew. What he thought he knew, at least. Stiles was a pretty good guesser, though. He just didn't feel too keen about putting that particular theory to the test. Not now, probably never. "I really do."

Derek looked uncomfortable, his eyes flickering red for a moment. Stiles breathed, tried to focus on the reason he had even started that line of conversation.

Scott, of course. Because, Derek's life could be all kinds of awful, but it didn't make it Scott's fault. Derek's well being wasn't his responsibility and Scott didn't owe him anything. Stiles could understand Derek's reasons for being a dick most of the time, yes, but it didn't mean he was willing to pet his hair and pretend Derek didn't do anything wrong.

"Look, if you want to blame someone, blame me." Stiles breathed, face lifted up. "I was the one who thought it would be fun to see a dead body in the woods. I was the one who dragged Scott along. It was because of me he got bitten."

Stiles paused, stared him down. Derek gazed back.

"I helped him," he began. "I tried."

"Dude," Stiles didn't even know _where_ to start. "You let him think for days you're the one who bit him."

"I didn't say I was--"

" _That's_ the problem, man." Stiles interrupted, threw both his hands in the air. "You need to use _words_. You bit Jackson, alright? He starts to act all weird? You should've let us know. You think Lydia is a homicidal lizard? You tell us, you ask for help, you don't just go and sick your betas on her. She was innocent!"

Derek looked like he got hit. Stiles stopped, put his hands down. He thought about Kate, again. _God_ , it was so much easier to be pissed at Derek when he had no idea of what was done to him.

"He made a deal with Gerard." Derek said, voice small, like a last resort. "He--"

"He had a plan." Stiles interrupted. "It wasn't the most honorable plan, I give you that, but I think if there's someone who could understand it, that's you. He did what he had to do to defeat Gerard. That must count for something in your 'the ends justifies the means' rules book."

Derek didn't reply. He looked towards Stiles' open window like it was the most beautiful sight in the whole world.

"Derek, look." Stiles began, with all the sympathy he could muster. "Scott is not perfect, okay? The number of times I fought the urge to punch him in the face because instead of worrying about the hunters or over losing control on the full moon the only word that kept coming out of his mouth was ' _Allison, Allison_...'"

Derek snorted. Stiles felt his chest warm up a bit. "But he's a teenager so--"

"So are you." Derek pointed out.

Stiles stopped, wondered whether he should take that as a compliment or not. "I wasn't the one who got bitten." He stated, instead. "I could try, but I can't understand what he's been through." Stiles ran a hand over his face, looked back at Derek. "And neither can you, for that matter. Not really. You grown up in this world, Derek, Scott was _hauled_ into it. He's just starting, you need to cut him some slack."

Derek exhaled visibly. Stiles thought he could see the gears inside Derek's head turning, his eyebrows becoming slightly less aggravated. It was probably too early to do a victory dance, though.

"And he's getting there, you know?" Stiles walked towards Derek, who didn't move from his spot. "He's busying himself, studying his furry ass off to get his grades back up awhile the love of his life is in another time zone." Stiles thought about Lydia, about his hair he still couldn't bring himself to cut down. "He's trying to do better. Maybe you should try it too."

Derek gazed at him in silence for a few seconds. "Scott is very lucky to have you," he said, then, looking very serious.

Stiles felt his face go hot. "Scott's pretty busy right now, remember?" He dismissed it with playful punch on Derek's shoulder. "So I guess I can afford to freelance my amazing skills." 

As Derek remained quiet, Stiles grabbed a towel, and turned his body. He looked at Derek over his shoulder. "So, I'm going to take a shower now, but when I get back we're going to sit down in front of that computer and think about how to find Erica and Boyd, okay?"

Derek didn't reply, nor did Stiles expect him to. But he was still there when Stiles returned, twenty minutes later, and there he stayed until they heard his dad's car approaching the house.

*

"It makes you feel a little old, doesn't it?"

Derek nods as he watches Cora being chatted up by tall, muscular boy. The pair is just a little ahead of him and Vivian, and Derek's currently trying very hard to not overhear their conversation. Not that he had to, the boy's body language clear enough for anyone with functional eyesight. Cora is handling it pretty well, he thinks, a sly smile on her face. The boy resembles Boyd a bit and that makes his chest ache.

"Yeah, it does." It makes Derek feels guilty too, but he's been trying to forgive himself. He thinks about Boyd's last words (' _It's all okay, Derek_ '), about how even as his beta was dying on his hands ( _by his hands_ , he struggles at the same time), Boyd tried to comfort him, to assure Derek everything that happened wasn't in vain.

"It must be difficult," Vivian sighs. Derek glances at her. She smiles wisely. "This. Realizing she's better off without you."

Derek thinks about protesting, but he knows it's pointless. "She _is_." He utters and it's like a huge weight being pulled out of his shoulders. "I'm just this constant reminder of the whole family she lost, of the time she was kept locked up..."

They're reaching the end of the track, after a whole day spent in one of the few natural reservations in the city. He looks up at the couple a few yards ahead. As it happened in a dream, Derek remembers Cora crying over Boyd's lifeless body.

"... of the boy she liked and I let die." ( _That I killed_ , he thinks, but doesn't say. He counts it as a progress.)

"You shouldn't leave because of this." Vivian says, fumbles in her straw handbag. "You're allowed to be a little selfish. Even if you think she doesn't need you, who says _you_ don't need her?"

Derek pauses. He hasn't thought that way. Cora is his sister. She's pack. How could he just doesn't need her? Derek couldn't just think on these terms, but realizes he has the answer to that question on the tip of his tongue.

"I learned how to get by without a lot of things," he thinks about his family house burned down. "I survived."

"Surviving..." Vivian shakes her head. "... is not the same as living. Everyone can survive with enough food and shelter, but we need more. We need family, friends. A pack. People to care about. It's a cliché, of course, but it's true. And I don't have to tell you that, you _know_."

(' _I told you how to survive_ ', Derek says to Boyd and Erica as they're about to leave him for good, ' _You do it as a pack_ '.)

"I know." He nods, watches as Cora types her number on the boy's phone, then shakes his hand with a broad smile. He thinks about Boyd, Erica and Isaac. He wonders if Isaac is okay. He'll always be his beta, first. "I know."

Vivian grins at Cora as they catch up with her, the boy already out of view, though Derek still could sense him closer. "E quem era o pedaço de mau caminho, hm?" Vivian says in a curious tone, puts her hand around Cora's shoulder. Derek sees his sister blushing and wonders what the woman had just said to her.

"Vó," Cora rolls her eyes. "Nobody speaks that way anymore."

Vivian glances at Derek. He gives her a sympathetic face in return. "Told you." She hugs Cora tightly, who accepts the gesture. Cora keeps staring at him, though, with something that feels like expectation in her eyes.

"He seems... nice." Derek pauses, waits for Cora's cue. 

"He asked if that guy I was with was my boyfriend." She grins widely.

Derek snorts. He can see Vivian watching both of them closely. "And what did you tell him?"

"Oh, I told it was my brother who just got home from jail." Cora says nonchalant. Derek doesn't know exactly how to react to that. Especially considering he _did_ go to prison, even it was only for a couple of days. He decides it's best to play along.

He grins. "Was he scared?"

Cora shakes her head. "Oh, he didn't believe me. Said you looked like a pretty decent guy and that I was a very bad liar."

Derek can't help laughing. "I like him already."

The boy (' _his name is Samuel, Derek_ ') calls Cora even before they manage to get back to Vivian's apartment and she agrees to go to the movies with him the very next day.

It's been almost a week since they arrived in São Paulo and Derek didn't really give himself the chance to explore the city. He spent most of his afternoons sheltered on Vivian's library, searching about South American legends, like the Kanima. In silence, he noticed how Cora began to smile more, to get back with her life. One afternoon she put on a floral dress, called a couple of friends over (and one of them blatantly flirted with him, to his sister's amusement). Cora made plans to go back to school next January and confessed Derek she had no idea what she wanted to do in college. In return, he told her about his old aspiration of majoring in History and she called him 'professor Hale' in a way that made his heart tighten. Derek thought about all the things he could have done and realized how pointless was to even think about that. As he watched Cora blossom in her true home, he thought it might be time for him to try his own way, too.

Derek wakes up early the next day, takes a crowded bus to downtown and has a 'pingado na chapa' for breakfast (which was just a strong latte served with white bread griddled in butter) while he watches the people around him chatting, frowning at the newspaper's headlines, walking to work, from work: living. He had asked Vivian for directions to the town's Human Sciences library, where he thought to search for Folklore books in English, but he ended up just wandering around the campus, a green oasis in the middle of a gray city. For most of the day Derek just watches as people talk, jog, make out in public. Though he feels like an outsider, no one looks at him twice and he wonders if he could get used to a life like that. As he makes his way back, though, he still couldn't say.

Vivian has a serious look on her face once Derek arrives, earlier evening, the sun just set. He gazes at her and immediately thinks about Cora out there, alone with a boy she barely knew and balls his hands into fists. His anxiety must have shown on his face as well, because she just dismisses it with a wave of her hand.

"She's a werewolf for God's sake," Vivian rolls her eyes at him. "We would have to worry if _he_ does something she doesn't like." Derek drops his head, feels a little stupid for jumping into conclusions. "I just got a call from my emissary. She says someone needs to speak to you. The name is Deaton, I believe?"

Derek thinks about his lazy afternoon. About how everything felt unreal, like it happened to somebody else. He realizes he's been waiting for a word from Beacon Hills since Stiles' text, days ago. He wonders why Deaton didn't call him right way, though. He hasn't changed his number, after all. It mustn't be so urgent, then, right? Derek doesn't know what he expects, what he _wants_ to expect, really. For years his life has been a constant of other's people decisions, other's people choices and he just followed along. Then, the only time he really tried taking matter on his own hands... (Isaac, Erica, Boyd, he thinks with regret and shame).

Derek calls Deaton's clinic from Vivian's landline. The daylight saving started to operate in most of Brazil just a couple of days ago, pushing the time zone gap between São Paulo and Beacon Hills up to five hours. Deaton is probably still working.

"I see you got my message." And his voice sounds just as always, something between amused and profoundly bored. Sometimes speaking to Deaton feels just like dealing with Peter, that uneasy sensation of being around someone who obviously knew a lot more than they're willing to show.

"How did you find me?" Derek asks, not really interested in the actual answer. He just wants to test the waters, see what the man is about.

"Oh," Deaton utters and Derek can almost picture the lift of his eyebrows. "Didn't you want to be found?"

"That's not what I asked," he replies. "My number didn't change, you could have got it from Scott. There was no need to disturb the people I'm with."

"Sorry, that wasn't my intention," he says and Derek is sure Deaton isn't sorry at all. "The emissaries' network is a huge one and someone like you tends to raise a few flags. I've known where you and your sister are for awhile, now."

Derek wonders if Deaton always knew Cora was alive and decides he doesn't want to know, because if he does, he's not sure what he'll try to do and the man used to be his mother's emissary and he's a father figure to Scott. Not mention more powerful than he looked like. Derek is slowly learning to pick his fights and Deaton is no one of them. It doesn't mean he has to trust him, though.

"So," Derek decides he had enough. "What do you want?" he asks, prayers he doesn't get some sort of riddle as an answer.

Deaton takes his time to reply. Derek can overhear paper being handled, like the man is turning the pages of a book. He's pretty sure Deaton knows everything he wants to say and he's just biding his time.

"Ever heard about a man named William Barrow?"

It's Derek's turn to take his time, but not because he wants to seem mysterious. He just doesn't have a single clue of what Deaton is talking about.

"Should I?" he replies, tries to sound casual.

"Talia probably mentioned him to your sister Laura," says Deaton. "Someone she should be cautious about?"

It hurts to think about Laura. It hurts in a completely different way than thinking about his whole family or his betas. Because for years it was just the two of them and the bond Derek managed to form with Laura was still there, sore like a wound you keep scratching. He had to bury her with his own hands. He still can smell the dirt on his fingernails.

"I don't know," Derek admits, finally. "I can't remember that name, no."

"It's possible--" Deaton starts, hesitates. "You might have heard of his war name, _Valenticanus?_ It's a play on words which could be interpreted as _Valentini Canis_."

Derek's Latin is almost nonexistent, but it's not a difficult leap to connect Valentini and Valentine. Also, being a werewolf, he's obviously very familiar with the word _canis_. The name takes shape in his brain before it reaches his lips and Derek feels both of his arms go numb once he manages to wrap his mind around it.

"Valentino's Hound," he utters the words like a curse. "The Killer." Deaton remains silent, gives it time to sink in. "You can't be serious. The Valentinos don't even operate in North America."

"Geography doesn't seem to matter much these days. We have Japanese shifters in Beacon Hills now, times are changing." Deaton sighs. "The Argents have a new code and the hunter community is not very pleased with them. I know they'll be sending envoys, and some of them may have already arrived."

Derek doesn't know how to react. He had heard of the Valentinos while growing up. Heard about their most vicious soldier, their personal hound, the Killer. His mother talked about him as human mothers talk about the boogeyman, to frighten their children into good behavior. Talia talked about Valentino's Hound in attempt to stop him and Laura of running too far in the woods when they're little. Derek only understood that the actual danger were hunters like the Argents when he was about ten years old and Laura told him she found out that the Killer lived too far away to do them any harm. He wonders if the man is actually frightening as he pictured him as a kid and decides it doesn't really matter. Because the Valentinos are very real. A hunter family almost as old as the Argents, whose fame is ruthless and who go by an ambiguous code, to say the least.

"So you think I should come back?" Derek asks, not sure if he wants to hear the answer.

"It's not my place to say it," Deaton replies and Derek can practically picture his unnerving cunning smile. "I just thought this a lot for a new Alpha like Scott to handle on his own."

Derek remembers Deaton's disdain tone as he helped him right after Peter's resurrection. "I thought we had established I wasn't a particularly competent Alpha. What can I offer him?"

Deaton snorts this time. "But you are no longer an Alpha, are you?" he asks, but his tone is soft, almost kind. "Scott doesn't need leadership advice, Derek. He needs friends."

He thinks of their final battle against Deucalion. Of Deucalion trying to force Scott to kill Jennifer in order to rescue his mother, Stiles' father (' _And who's going to save them_ ', Deucalion had asked, mocked him, ' _your friends?_ '). And Derek remembers as Scott's eyes glowed bright yellow, maybe for the last time (' _My pack_ ', he replied). Derek thinks of Stiles, Lydia and Allison. Isaac now, too (' _I think I'm finally getting why you keep refusing me, Scott_ '). He didn't really feel surprised to find out Scott was a True Alpha (' _You're not an Omega_ '). Derek should have expected it, actually. After all, he said the words himself, and not a long time ago (' _You're already an Alpha of your own pack_ ').

"His friends are already there." He replies.

Deaton sighs deeply. Pauses for a moment, and then says in a quiet tone, before hanging up.

"Not all of them, no."

It's only hours late, after Cora is safe back home, that Derek realizes why Deaton didn't call him right away. Why he left a message, a message which could easily be ignored. Deaton was giving him a choice from the very beginning.

And when Derek feels his chest tighten as Cora kisses him goodnight, he finally understands he had made his decision even before picking up the phone.

 

 _Well, you know I have a love, a love for everyone I know_.  
_And you know I have a drive to live, I won't let go_.  
_But can you see this opposition comes rising up sometimes?_  
_That it's dreadful imposition, comes blacking in my mind_.  
**Bonnie Prince Billy/Johnny Cash – I See A Darkness**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the information regarding the _Noppera-bo_ used in this chapter can be found [here](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Noppera-b%C5%8D) and [here](http://www.unexplainable.net/simply-unexplainable/the-noppera-bo.php). I thought it was a really interesting way to approach the Japanese Mythology, which is supposed to play a big part on 3b, because it looks creepy and also stays within the shapeshifter's realm. I'll move to the Kitsune myth (or try, at least) in the next chapters.
> 
> I actually took two semesters of Latin in college, but I can tell you I'm really far away from Lydia Martin's amazing dead language skills, so the whole _Valentini Canis_ thing is probably incorrect, but well. I went by the same principle used for the religious Dominican order ( _Dominicanus_ , in Latin, could be interpreted as a [pun](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dominican_Order#cite_ref-5), indicating that they're the _Domini canes_ , the 'Hounds of the Lord'). I just thought that since Jeff Davis said the new hunters will have a [Latin influence](http://www.hypable.com/2013/10/14/teen-wolf-jeff-davis-nycc/) I may as well take it to heart and make them with a heavy Roman heritage.
> 
> I'm [queermadbaggins](http://queermadbaggins.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr, where I just have this tendency to reblog a lot of TW and Sterek related stuff and sometimes attempt to make edits for this story (you can check its [tag](http://queermadbaggins.tumblr.com/tagged/fic%3A-wlcr) at your own risk). Finally, I'd like to give a _thank you_ to everyone who took the time to write me a comment on the last chapter. It meant a lot, you have no idea. So, this one here is dedicated to you all. Thanks for bearing with me. :)


	4. Maybe you're a mourner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ' _I promised I wouldn't leave you_ ', Derek pulled off the hug, looked into her eyes. Cora shook her head, grinned. ' _You are not_ ', she promised him. ' _I'm on Facebook. We can email or Skype_ , Cora laughed at his confused face. _I bet you don't have an account, though. Once you get there, ask Stiles to set up one for you, deal_?'
> 
> And Derek promised he would, but it was the cemetery his first stop once he arrived at Beacon Hills.

"Can I help you?"

Derek blinks, and turns to face the owner of the voice behind him. It belongs to a middle aged woman with loosely braided blond hair dressed in a set of worn out clothes. He stares at her for a couple of seconds, asks himself how he didn't sense her approach. She stares back, smiles a crooked smile and rests an idle hand against her large waist, as the other one holds a gardening spade. She smells of wet dirt and dead flowers.

"Sorry." Derek realizes how odd he must look, a strange man in a leather jacket standing still in the middle of a graveyard for god knows how long. "I- I'm fine?" he tries, not sure if it is the right thing to say. Probably not.

"Are you looking for someone specifically?" she asks.

Derek remembers the last time he was there, the afternoon before he turned Isaac, watching as the Sheriff questioned him about that grave robbery. Derek thinks how he couldn't bring himself to attend to Erica and Boyd's funerals, not even from afar. So he's not really surprise he doesn't recognize this woman. It does make sense to have someone else's responsible for the place since the murder of Isaac's father. 

"No," Derek stops once she raises both her eyebrows. "I mean, _yes_. But I know how to find them."

The woman gives him a long, intent look. "Alright, dear," she lets it go, sympathetic. "If you need anything I'll be working on the Archers' chamber," she points a few yards to her left. "It's right over there."

"Right," he nods, then adds as a last thought. "Thanks."

The woman looks over her shoulder one last time before walking away, mutters a song under her breath. Derek shakes his head, starts to walk the opposite direction.

It's deep uncomfortable having no idea where Boyd and Erica are actually buried, and yet to know exactly where to go. That's has nothing to do with sense of smell. In the middle of so many different degrees of rotting fleshes, Derek's feeling pretty much overwhelmed. He couldn't rely only on that even if he wanted to. There's something guiding him, though. It's a pull, like an invisible thread attached between his chest and two very distinct places. He knows precisely where his whole family is buried and even then he feels himself being drawn towards his betas' graves.

Erica's covered in flowers. Derek can sense another's people care and tenderness. He never met her parents, but it's like he could see a woman with the same pair of big bright eyes, a smile wiped away from her face for good, and a bulky man with a hollow face, shrunk under the weight of a loss he couldn't ever truly overcome. Derek closes his eyes, gazes over a girl dressed in a hospital gown, scared and ashamed (' _What if I told you... that all of this could go away?_ ' he asks ' _And what if all those things not only went away... But everything else... Got even better?_ ') and he knows that the worst part was he never thought he was lying. Derek looks over Erica's grave, feels her cold body in his arms and he doesn't ask for forgiveness because he knows it's pointless. That bed of flowers doesn't have any answers to give him.

"I'm sorry," he says it anyway.

Boyd's grave is very simple. Well-tended grass and white tombstone with his name on it ( _Vernon Milton Boyd IV_ ), complemented with dates of birth and death, a trademark phrase carved beneath it all ( _God took him home, it was his will, but in our hearts he liveth still_ ). Derek feels a baffling anger as he stares at these words and realizes he wants to shout out loud. Because God had nothing to do with that. It was all on him. He doesn't close his eyes this time. The image of Boyd's life pouring out of open wounds is burned deep into his retinas. He can smell the wet wood, the blood. He fists both of his hands, shudders like somehow he could shake off Boyd's last words (' _It's all okay, Derek_.'), the forgiving tone he couldn't ever accept.

As a second thought, he wonders why that grave doesn't any have flowers like Erica's or even that same feeling of personal care. The answer is a rather faded name and some lines just beneath Boyd's ( _Alicia, loving daughter and sister, we give you this place to rest because our hearts are still full of hope. Please, come home_.) and it feels like a punch on his guts. He never knew Boyd had lost a sister too. Derek wonders what would have changed if he did. He would have left Boyd alone? But as Derek turns his face from that bare, simple, second-hand cared grave, he knows he just wouldn't. (' _The full moon. That feeling..._ ') Derek would feel even more entitle to do something about, to change that boy's life, to have Boyd following him. (' _That was worth it_.')

"Was it, Boyd?" he asks to nobody in particular as he shambles his way between the cemetery's lanes. He doesn't expect an answer and he probably wouldn't believe in it, even if he was given one.

The sun is high up in the sky and Derek wonders how he thought this could ever be a good idea. To walk over his buried past mistakes and hope he won't feel too bad about them. He feels the need to get out of there, to get away from that smell of decayed bodies and dying flowers, but his tour isn't done yet. He has one last place to visit.

The Hale's mausoleum resembles Boyd's grave in the way it's also plain, simple and tended by others. There are no personal epitaphs for the deceased family's members, only their names and dates written down in sober calligraphy. Most date from almost seven years ago.

Cora's name is among them.

Derek doesn't plan to have it removed. Let the world think she's dead so she can live without being disturbed again. He remembers of their farewell, just a couple of days back. She didn't offer to escort him to the airport and he didn't ask her to. They just looked at each other over the room he slept for the last week, where he laid in bed at night and thought about never coming back, and without saying anything she just stepped into his comfort zone and gave him a really long hug.

' _I have to go_ ', he said, chin against the top of her head. She felt so small between his arms Derek wanted to cry. ' _I have to stay_ ', Cora replied, holding him tightly. Derek gazed at the gray city through the window behind his sister and thought about how she looked brighter every new day, how she was home, _home_ , and how she understood that he just wasn't. Maybe she wanted him to stay, but she wouldn't ever ask him to.

' _I promised I wouldn't leave you_ ', Derek pulled off the hug, looked into her eyes. Cora shook her head, grinned. ' _You are not_ ', she promised him. ' _I'm on Facebook. We can email or Skype_ ', Cora laughed at his confused face. ' _I bet you don't have an account, though. Once you get there, ask Stiles to set up one for you, deal?_ '

And Derek promised he would, but it was the cemetery his first stop once he arrived at Beacon Hills. He hasn't exactly planned to go there, it's just... as he drove in the city and passed by the place he just felt this crushing need to stop and... to say goodbye, maybe?

But as Derek stares at his family's chamber he realizes he just couldn't do it, though. At least seven of them are there because of him. You don't get absolution for that. You don't get to just say goodbye. He was only five the first time he attended to a funeral of a family member. It was his mother's father, who has died from a wound caused by wolfsbane poisoning. They never caught the hunter who did it and Derek was forbidden to leave the house alone for awhile after that.

He remembers watching as Laura asked their mother why they couldn't just leave grandpa in the woods, close to them, like the wolves do. Talia had answered her daughter they weren't wolves, her tone both kind and serious. Back then, Derek didn't really understand his mother's choice of words, but as he stares at the Hale's mausoleum now he thinks maybe he does. They weren't wolves, they lived in a house, they dressed in human clothes, went to school. They were buried beneath stone so their bodies could rotten in peace, so they can forever remain anonymous from the ones who wanted to do them harm.

 _It's a little late for that, thought_ , Derek presses his fingertips over Laura's name, which is a little brighter than his mother's. He realizes he just can't bring himself to do that same with her name. He wonders if his mother would've forgiven him if she knew about the fire. If she would have called him beautiful, still.

Derek passes by the woman with loosely braided blond hair on his way out. She doesn't raise her head, looking pretty busy with a tomb covered in flowers and sympathy messages for a guy named Tyler Archer. There this lingering scent of a small crowd around the place. An earlier funeral, most likely. As he turns the cemetery corner, he sees a small group of kids dressed up in different, colorful costumes. He hadn't realized it was Halloween already. Too many hours spent in the road and flights, changing time zones messed up with his internal clock. Derek only knew the full moon is close because that's something he just couldn't help.

Once he reaches for his car and removes his jacket, Derek realizes he doesn't know where to go. The obvious answer would be to a grocery store, buy some essentials before driving back to the loft. Maybe get a good night of sleep before contacting Scott to let him know he's back. But once he turns on the engine he notices he's making his way towards the preserve. Derek doesn't change his course, though. Maybe he needed that, more than he had to go to his family's chamber. They were all buried somewhere else, before.

The county still hasn't knocked down the Hale house, and maybe they won't have to. The place seemed to have taken his fare share of Jennifer's storm and looked about to collapse. Derek thinks he would actually like that. To come over every now and then and watch the scorched wood to decompose over the dirt until no one could tell the difference. No one but him.

Derek overhears someone approaching maybe a mile away. The scent is familiar, but he can't tell who this is for sure. He can still smell Laura's and she was in that hole he dug up only for a day and a night. As the presence comes closer Derek is suddenly aware about their identity, even if he has this feeling the only reason he can tell is because Peter is letting him.

"So the prodigy son returns." Derek rolls his eyes at his uncle's words, turns to face him.

Peter is bare-chested, hair all out of place like he's been running for some time now.

"Since when do you know I'm back?" He asks, crosses his arms.

"I always knew you would be back, eventually." Peter shrugs. "Can't have your teen wolves running around without proper adult supervision, can you?"

Derek trusts Peter as far he could throw him (not very far now, probably), but his uncle gave him a way to save Cora and Derek didn't regret it. He owns him, somehow. Derek doesn't know what to make of it, though, Peter coming to find him only a few hours after he's back in Beacon Hills. He wonders if his uncle has been following him since the cemetery. It sounds like Peter.

"They're not _my_ wolves," Derek says, and instead pursuing it further, he thinks for a moment. Then, he gambles. "You know why I'm back."

"I hope it's not just because of the Valentinos." Peter grins. "They're not the problem, you know."

Derek resists the urge to roll his eyes again. "Right." He tries for a neutral face, instead. "Because there's nothing in our family history that suggests we shouldn't be worried about a bunch of bloodthirsty hunters."

Peter barely blinks. "There actually only two of them."

"One of them is the Killer." Argues Derek.

"My, my." Peter lets out a small chuckle. "Sometimes I forget how young you are. Still afraid of the stories your mother told so you and Laura would behave?"

The mention of Laura, only a few yards from the grave he had dug up with his own hands, makes Derek see red. If he was still an alpha he would have attacked Peter on the spot, but he contains himself. Maybe he could take Peter, even now. But maybe not.

"Maybe she should have told us the story about the evil uncle who murdered his innocent niece for her power."

Peter has the decency to look ashamed this time. "Still hard feelings, I see." He sighs deeply, looks around, spread his arms. "What about a run, just you and me? See who makes to the canyon first? I could let you in about what happened in the town the past few days."

"Right." Derek scowls at him. "So what, you can push me over the edge and claim it was just an accident?"

"Honestly, Derek." This time, he looks downright offended. "You realize you were unconscious for _hours_ after you saved Cora? I could've slashed both your throats if I wanted to. Why haven't I?"

Derek stares him down. "It's a very good question, isn't?"

"Please, Derek." Peter pleads, lets his heartbeat show he isn't lying. Not about that, at least. "For old times' sake."

Somewhere deep beneath that facade Derek knows there's the person he considered his best friend while growing up. Not for the first time, he wonders what Peter would have said about Kate, back then, if only Derek had come to him. Maybe his uncle would have sensed something was off about her. But Derek couldn't just trust him completely, not after Paige. And maybe Peter had paid the highest price for that, being burned alive just to survive as empty shell for the better part of six years.

"For old times." Derek nods, takes off his shirt, attaches it to the waistband of his jeans. He had to buy new ones right after he landed in L.A., for he had dropped about twenty pounds in a matter of weeks. To lost substantial weight in such short amount of time isn't exactly news to him, though. After the fire, he became so thin so quickly Laura gave him a really long talk. This time Derek's willing to bet it has something to do with the whole ex-alpha business, though.

Peter doesn't comment his slighter frame, just grins at him. "That's my boy."

"I'm not your boy." Derek says between clenched teeth. "We're doing this or not?"

"By all means." Peter turns his body, faces east. "You may lead."

"I'm no longer an alpha." Derek narrows his eyes, flicks them blue, bares his fangs, wolfs out. "So age before beauty. Go ahead."

He overhears as Peter chuckles before he races forward. Derek watches as his uncle's back disappear by a bunch of trees. He wonders what would happen if he just choose to not follow him, but his decision is already made. Better to know what he's up to than just turn his back.

It doesn't take long for him to catch up with Peter, then just a couple of minutes to best him in the race. He doesn't like the idea of having Peter on his back, but the exhilaration of running around these familiar woods beats his suspicion. Ten minutes later, Derek reaches the canyon with an involuntary smile on his face, Peter's right behind him.

"So," Derek uses his shirt to wipe the sweat off his face. "If I don't have to worry about the hunters with no code, I assume you mean the Japanese shifters?"

"That's not fair." Peter breathes heavily. "They _do_ have a code."

Derek knows Peter's avoiding the point. If it's for deep reasons other than making him uneasy he can't really tell. Derek plays along, though, doesn't let his anxiety shown. "If you call that a code..."

"Happens I agree with that one, actually." Derek is not surprised. If he's completely honest, he kind of agrees, too. "Anyway, shifters," Peter begins. "It started about one week after the lunar eclipse. People reporting bizarre visions--"

Derek remembers his conversation with Stiles over the phone. "Like dreams?"

"No." Peter shakes his head. "Not _only_ , at least. One guy just died from the effects of a heart attack trigged by a really big fright."

Derek doesn't reply. He moves towards the edge of the canyon, looks over Beacon Hills. There's a chill in the air, so he puts back on his shirt.

"I assume you have heard of the Kitsune myth?" Peter asks, stands beside him over the abyss.

The term is not completely foreign to him. "Some sort of spirits, right?"

"Yes." Peter nods. "They can assume a human form, though, by possessing a dead body or an unborn child. Then, they can shift their appearance at their will. Actually, they can shift into pretty much everything."

Derek frowns. "Everything?"

"Everything found in nature, yes." Peter explains. "People, trees, rocks. Water."

"Water?" Derek can't help asking. "Why anyone would want to turn into _water?_ "

His uncle shrugs, waves a hand. "Could be handy in a fight, I guess."

Derek doesn't know what to make of that. He needs to do some real research on the matter before trying anything. He needs to find Scott. And Stiles. "You think it's a Kitsune that's causing the... visions?"

"I'm not sure," Peter replies. "I just know there's one in Beacon Hills right now and strangely, off all people, she seems to have chosen to gravitate around our little true alpha."

" _Scott?_ "

Peter smirks. "There's this girl he started to 'hang out' with lately." Derek frowns. He wonders what Argent's daughter has to say about that. "She's a Kitsune."

Derek doesn't know why Peter would lie about that, but he asks it anyway. "How do you know?"

"What do you think I do with my time? Watch marathons of Criminal Minds as I plot how to conquer the world?" Peter rolls his eyes. "Give me some credit, my dear nephew. While you're laying on a beach in Brazil I've been busy _investigating_."

"There no beaches in São Paulo." Derek replies before he can stop himself. Peter only stares back at him. "Assuming you telling the truth, what does this Kitsune wants with Scott?"

Peter crosses his arms over his chest. "Can't be anything good."

Derek may as well take a look on that. Scott may be an alpha, but he's still a hormonal teenager. He may overlook the true nature of a pretty girl. Derek definitely knows the feeling.

"You sure we don't have to worry about the Valentinos?" He asks, tries to take Peter's mind away from Scott. He definitely doesn't like the idea of his uncle creeping on the boy, especially now he's an alpha. It's like letting a known alcoholic near a bottle of the finest wine.

"They are Argent's problem, actually." Peter grimaces. "Besides, in my book, wolf trumps hound every time."

Derek considers what he knows about the Valentinos. About the rules they operate by. It's enough for him to feel sorry for the Argents. If the Valentinos are in Beacon Hills to clean house, things will turn nasty sooner rather than later. And some of them probably would get caught in the crossfire. He eyes Peter sideways and shakes his head, lets a worrying sigh out.

"Too bad it's not by your book they play."

*

 _~ Two months ago_.

 

Since the Gerard incident Derek had been trying to be extra cautious. He knew the Argents had discovered his hiding place at the rail depot, so he couldn't really risk going back there. But the truth was that even if he knew the place was safe, he couldn't bring himself to live there anymore. Not when he could find Erica's red lipstick near their toothbrushes, or Boyd's set of physics textbooks along with his Eric Hobsbawm collection.

He didn't only have the Argents to be wary about, though. The Alpha pack was getting bolder. None of them tried to make actual contact, but Derek could feel their presence when he stopped for gas in the middle of the night, when he ran around the woods to burn off some steam. It was like shadows, but every time he turned his back, they were gone. He knew they are biding their time, but what for?

So he took some extra measures to assure he was a few steps ahead this time. He drove a few towns over and traded his flashy Camaro for a plain Toyota. He avoided the Hale house and had been living in different motels for the past months. It wasn't easy on Isaac, though, even if the boy used to spend most of his time out, searching for his friends. Derek preferred this way, actually. Because it hurt to look at Isaac and see how much he had wronged him.

Maybe that's why Derek had been spending so much time with Stiles. The kid was annoying at the best times, but Derek hadn't directly ruined his life, so it was easy to be near him. Except he hadn't really talked to Stiles for over three weeks now, after the boy suggested on the phone they should ask Chris Argent for help to track the Alpha pack, since he was, after all, an _experienced hunter_. Derek didn't even _try_ to listen, the vision of Argent's daughter stabbing Isaac over and over still sore in his mind. On the other side of the line, Stiles muttered something about Derek being 'such a stubborn dumbass', and then he hung up just a couple seconds later, claiming he had heard his father coming from the bathroom.

Derek haven't called Stiles back or showed up on his room ever since. Stiles' idea actually made some sense, but he wasn't near ready to trust another Argent. Derek would continue to track Erica and Boyd on his own if he had too. In the meantime, after he checked out from the fifth different motel in a month, he decided if he saw a mattress with magic fingers again in the near future he couldn't be held responsible for his actions.

Derek bought the loft a week later. Stiles called him a couple of hours after he had finished moving all of his boxes inside.

"I got the list." Stiles said as way of greeting, his tone tired. "It's pretty long." Derek wondered how much time took for Stiles to swallow down his pride and call him. He wasn't the only stubborn dumbass between them, after all. "I can email to you." Stiles offered, stopped for a second. "Do you even own a computer?"

Derek gazed around his new place. Besides a wooden table, there were only a couple of boxes filled with books and a mattress on the floor. "I can go to your house and get it--"

"No." Stiles interrupted. "My dad's home. Just give me the address of the dump motel you're staying this time. I need to get some air anyway."

Derek looked around, hesitated. If he planned to lay low, telling his address to the sheriff's kid didn't sound like the smartest of the plans, but then, that kid has been trying to help him. Derek sighed, gave Stiles the details and started to sort through his boxes as he waited.

Stiles arrived forty minutes later, with a couple of soda cans, two bags of Doritos, a map of Beacon Hills and a thirty-page long list of the county's known abandoned buildings. He looked around in awe as Derek released him from the snacks before he dropped everything on his clean floor.

"Got tired of those motels, huh? Can't say I blame you." Stiles didn't make another comment about the loft, though, just popped a can open and emptied half of it with a single gulp. "Sorry," he said as Derek stared at him in silence. "Didn't realize I was this thirsty. Have been working on this list for the past few days so I didn't get much sleep. Or actual food, for that matter."

Derek didn't know what to say. He never meant for Stiles to deprive himself because of him. But then he never meant for the boy to nearly drown for the exact same reason. Maybe he was right about not ruining the kid's life, but he wasn't exactly improving it either. Derek was grateful for his help, but after tonight he couldn't accept it further. He would say Stiles to go and help Scott with his studies or to do whatever teenagers do on their summer break.  
He did enough.

"Dude," Derek realized Stiles had finished his soda and was then snooping around the room, staring at the books Derek had lined over the table. He touched one of them with his fingertips, turning his head to read the title, a curious look on his face. Derek recognized the cover from a hardback he bought a few weeks back, on a thrift shop. Something about Pacific mythical creatures, if he remembered correctly. Since the Hale library turned into ashes he thought it was about time to start it over. "Can I borrow this one?" Stiles asked, turning to face him.

Derek couldn't think of one single reason to say no, so he just shrugged. Stiles murmured _Thanks, man_ , put the book on his bag. They stared at each other in silence for a couple of seconds. There's no further reason for Stiles to stay and Derek just promised himself he would dismiss him, let the boy be just a normal teenager for once. But he just couldn't bring himself to say the words.

He watched Stiles fidgeting as he tried to look at easy, noticed how long his hair looked now. Derek remembered when they sat across each other on a diner's table and he listened as the boy talked about letting it grow like it had some profound meaning. Derek couldn't sense Lydia's scent around Stiles now and even Scott's was slowing fading out. He wondered how long has been since Stiles had talked to someone besides his father and felt a little bad for avoiding him for the past few weeks.

"You okay?" Derek asked, not sure what he would do in case Stiles decided to actually answer.

"Peachy," he replied, shook his head. "Just a little tired, you know." Derek didn't know, not really. He couldn't get tired like humans did, and he had this feeling Stiles probably got it worse than most, with a father on the law enforcement, not to mention his prescribed medication. Derek could scent the Adderall beneath Stiles' skin, that acrid, choking smell. It smelled stronger tonight, somehow. "How did you found this place anyway?"

Derek didn't vocalize what he was thinking, that Stiles was stalling, that he just didn't want to go back home. Why Derek's presence could be preferable than his computer and video-games Derek had no idea, but since he couldn't bring himself to say Stiles he didn't need him anymore, it couldn't harm to let him stay for a little awhile. "Newspaper," so he replied.

Stiles made a face, his eyebrows drawn together like he found to picture Derek reading the news somehow impossible. Derek couldn't blame him, really. "Well, it's not in my list so it should be pretty hard to track down." Stiles granted, crossed his arms over his chest. "I doubt you'll get a decent Wi-Fi connection, though."

Derek had to bite inside his mouth to not laugh. "I have enough books."

Stiles eyed his table suspiciously, but before he could say anything his stomach growled aloud in the empty room. "Shit," he muttered, turning red. Promptly, Stiles opened one of the Doritos' bags he brought and shoved a handful of chips down his throat. "Sorry."

Derek realized he found Stiles' way to treat his basic human needs, like eating and resting, oddly endearing. And if the boy didn't have any plans about leaving his loft anytime soon, Derek may as well to make their time useful. But even after driving there, just to give him the list Derek could tell Stiles still wasn't exactly happy with him, so he might not take the suggestion well. At the same time, Derek was sure he wouldn't just apologize for avoiding Stiles after the suggestion about the Argents, but he had to do _something_.

"I think I saw a pizza pamphlet here somewhere." He shrugged as Stiles looked up, his mouth stained with Doritos' dust. "Do you eat meatballs?"

*

"He's dead."

It's not a nightmare, but a phone call from Lydia that wakes Stiles up in the middle of the night. The words pound inside his head like an echo, as Lydia's worn out voice repeats "That guy, Tyler Archer? He just _died_ , Stiles. We couldn't save him... we couldn't do anything."

For about ten minutes, Stiles tries to convince her there's nothing else they could have done for the guy. That that man lived one week longer just because he got at the hospital in time, but in the end his heart just couldn't take it and that wasn't their fault. Lydia ignores his reasoning, though. "I'm definitely going to need that party tonight." She says instead of goodbye, before hanging up on him.

Stiles tries to go back to sleep, really tries. He pulls his laptop and opens a porn that always does the trick for him, but not even a video staring two gorgeous guys getting their way with a busty redhead can take Stiles' mind off of teenager Tyler Archer smiling on his yearbook. He stares at the flaccid dick between his fingers and feels deeply betrayed. When a seventeen year old can't manage some quality alone fun time the world is definitely fucked up.

He gazes at the clock on his computer and decides it's useless to stay in bed. At past four and half, even if Stiles did manage to fall asleep in the next thirty minutes, chances are he would just miss the school alarm and he doesn't feel like being late to Finstock's class, especially after last time. Just watching some TV show with an ASL translator in the bottom of the screen started to give him chills. At the same time, Stiles couldn't remember enough of his hallucination to try translating the sign, but he had the feeling it wasn't a good one.

It's still dark when he finally manages to put on some clothes, grabs his bat and climbs down the stairs, tiptoeing to not wake up his dad. Stiles knows he's been working double-shifts because Scott's dad is pressing the whole force to find Jennifer. He knew she wasn't the only who deserved to be locked up for the murders, but they needed a scapegoat and she's missing, so. At least his dad didn't need to lie when Agent McCall interrogated him about her whereabouts. It's bad enough for him having to lie about everything else. Stiles could see how much it affected him, not being able to be completely honest with his men.

On the bright side, Roscoe is back. Stiles smiles at his jeep, puts his bat on the passenger seat and runs his fingers over the dashboard, the steering wheel. It feels good. Actually, with the lately combination of his lack of sleep, the hallucinations, plus Scott looking to some else's besides Allison and Derek's gone from the picture, having his jeep back is like one of the only things that feel normal in the world.

Once he parks outside the preserve, Stiles spends a few minutes to take his usual precautions. On his phone he sets an emergency text to Scott, to be activated with a single touch in case he gets into trouble. He also puts his phone on silent, even cuts off the vibrating option, well-aware that there are other things with way better hearing than his. At last, Stiles grabs his aluminum bat, feels its weight, runs a hand over the tip, and takes notice of the few dents over the metal. He's been putting a lot of strength on the hits, it seems. He locks the jeep, turns on a flashlight, starts to walk. It's been a few days since the last time he went to the Nemeton, but he manages to find it just fine. It looks the same, except...

Stiles gets closer, aims the flashlight and feels as his heart skips a beat. There's now a small branch sprouting out of the tree stump, crowed with a dozen of green leaves to make absolutely clear it's alive and kicking. He sighs deeply, presses his bat against the roots. Of course it's alive. Those faceless things scaring people to death showing up just about at the same time they had drowned themselves to find the damn tree couldn't be a coincidence. _They_ made it happen, they _fed_ it. Stiles didn't have to close his eyes to hear Deaton's voice warning them (' _You'll be giving power back to the Nemeton, a place that hasn't had power for a long time_.'), but let's be honest, what choice did they have? Stiles would've dripped his own non-metaphorical blood over the stupid tree to save his dad if he had to.

That's why he's here, Stiles guesses. Scott didn't ask him, for what Stiles is profoundly thankful for, because voicing aloud that he walks to the Nemeton several times per week to _guard_ it sounds pretty dumb even inside his head. Who Stiles thinks he is? He doesn't have any powers, couldn't actually _prevent_ anything to leave the perimeter. But he needs to _know_. Stiles has this feeling that when something supernatural comes to Beacon Hills, that's the place it's going to look first, before going into a killing spree or something. Maybe the faceless things showed up here first. Maybe he could have prevented it, if he had been there at the time. Maybe Tyler Archer would be alive.

The dawn is starting to show at the horizon. Stiles turns off the flashlight, pockets it. He inhales the damp aroma of the morning between the trees. He likes this smell, the mix of earth, leaves and wood. It feels pure. He wonders what it feels like for a werewolf. It must be overwhelming. Keeping in mind to ask Scott about it later, Stiles begins to circle the Nemeton.

He has his bat up, solid in his hands. He swings it against the nearest tree, a hallow sound covering the one his feet make as he walks over the dried leaves on the ground. Stiles repeats the movement two, three. Four times. It's like ringing a bell, calling someone (or something) in. Stiles is well aware it's a pretty stupid thing to do. Because _anything_ could show up, even non-supernatural things that could be just as dangerous. A mountain lion, maybe.

Stiles stops when he thinks about it, laughs quietly. He wonders if he would've believed, back then, at the beginning, in case he wasn't actually mixed up with the whole mess. Stiles wonders if he would've believed those kills were work of a mountain lion. He thinks about a not much younger version of himself creeping around Scott's house, certain it was the finest idea in the world to drag his best friend to go looking for a dead body.

He shakes his head, resumes hitting, the sunrise all over him. Stiles feels sweat forming on his forehead and he breaks off just to wipes his skin clean, rolls-up the leaves of his shirt for the extra room to move about. His muscles starts to feel hot, not in an unpleasant way, and he rocks his entire body as he strikes a particular big tree, a splinter of wood missing his eyes for a heartbeat.

"Wow!" Stiles stops. That's when he overhears it. It's like someone just stepped over a dry branch, broke it in half. He ceases moving entirely, holds his breath and just listens, bat hanging in the air. The sound doesn't repeat, but Stiles is sure he heard it. He knows, somehow he knows, he's just not alone anymore.

Stiles considers what he's going to do in case someone ( _something_ ) actually shows up. If he's going to try fight his way out of it. He's getting pretty good with the bat, the moves of his childhood, when his mom used to take him to play baseball on a little league team, coming back to him. But he couldn't just home run a vampire or a wendigo or whatever. He could text Scott, of course, but even with his werewolf speedy, there's no way his best friend would get there in time to save his ass. He thinks how distressful his dad is going to look, once he gets the call to check on this sliced body found on the woods and realizes it belongs to his own son. Stiles closes his eyes, remembers to breath and tries to enhance his senses, like it's something he could do with his force of will, tries to pinpoint from where that sound came.

It happens extremely fast. Stiles, eyes still shut, swings his whole body to his right with all the strength he can muster. At the same time, he overhears a hissing sound and opens his eyes just in time to watch an arrow pierce through his vision field, knock off the bat from his hands, lodging itself against the tree to his left. Allison is right behind it, another arrow ready to shoot on her bowstring, a sharp look on her face. She lowers her arm once she spots him, though.

"You missed." Stiles says as picks his bat from the ground, examining it. There's a new, deeper cavity on the metal, not much worse than the ones he made by hitting trees.

"No, I didn't." Allison gets closer enough for him to see her face. She smiles in a way between deadly dangerous and sweet as an angel. Stiles thinks about Scott and hopes Allison's really into Isaac now, otherwise he's feeling sorry in advance for his best friend and that Kira girl.

"It isn't a little too early to bow practice? All the moving targets are probably still in bed."

Allison pockets the arrow she had set, looks around. "Usually I came after school, but I promised to help Lydia with the party, so..." She gives a half-hearted shrug, doesn't seem exactly excited about it. Stiles wonders how it's going to be, all of them together in a closed room. _That_ room. He's not feeling thrilled either. "Scott told I may find you here."

"Oh." Stiles can't help feeling surprised. "So you two are talking...?"

She smiles, the dimples on her cheekbones showing. "Why wouldn't we?" 

Stiles realizes he never actually talked with her about that. He just assumed, mostly because of Lydia, that there's something going on between Allison and Isaac since the night they scarified themselves. "I just..." he starts, not sure if he even _wants_ to have that conversation. "It's just that I haven't seen you guys in the same space for some time now."

Allison's smile trembles, but she manages to keep it on. "Yeah, it's complicated."

Stiles thinks about Lydia kissing him out of his panic attack. About her pinning him down on the bathtub, keeping him grounded. Wonders if they ever are going to talk about that. Realizes he doesn't know if he wants to.

"I bet it is." Stiles smiles in an assuring way and Allison seems relieved to be let off the hook. He notices how she draws her hand up to her throat, squeezes the skin there like something is bothering her. Her eyes move towards the Nemeton and meet Stiles' on the way. Her smiles fades, a metaphorical shadow covering her face.

"I know." Stiles guarantees her. "I _know_."

Allison doesn't try to smile this time, only turns the corner of her mouth up a little, like she's trying to convince herself she's not alone in the dark. But Stiles still remembers what happened after Scott touched the stump, inside the big white run. Once they stepped into the darkness, they're all alone.

Stiles wonders if he should touch her shoulder or something equally soothing, but before he can decide, another noise cuts through the woods. He recognizes that one. It's a clear, loud wolf howl. Stiles only hopes it's a friendly one.

"Okay," he trips towards Allison, his bat up, standing by her side. "Tell me you heard that too."

Allison doesn't say a word, just nods very slowly, a stern look on her face as she pulls an arrow from her quiver, sets it on her bow, aims south, waits as she turned into a statue.

It doesn't take long to Scott emerge between the trees, his chest all covered in blood. They both run towards him and Stiles barely makes it without dropping his bat, while Allison manages to cover them both all the way.

Scott's eyes keep flickering between red and brown, and there's blood pouring out of his mouth. Cold panic settles inside Stiles' chest as he drops his bat to press a hand against an open wound near Scott's heart. His mind races, trying to think why Scott isn't healing, how he found them there, who or what could've attacked him. Allison seems to be satisfied there are no impending threats and drops on her knees beside them. Her face is white as a sheet.

"Come on, buddy, come on." Stiles slaps Scott's face without applying real force. Allison keeps her hands to herself, like she's afraid she could do him more harm than good. "Scott, who did this?" she asks in a small voice and Scott stares at her, struggles to raise his arm, pointing somewhere behind them. They both look up and Stiles is surprised to realize he's entirely capable of experiencing more panic than he's already feeling. Because Agent McCall is standing right there before the Nemeton, looking over them with a gun aimed towards his son' head.

"Ow, _ow_ \--" Stiles doesn't know what that asshole saw or did, but he's willing to appeal to whatever fatherly side he has left if that means saving Scott. "Look," he pleads in the most respectful tone he can fake. "Your son is hurt, we need to get him to a hospital."

"No." Agent McCall shakes his head, eyes livid. "I saw everything. He's a monster. He's not my son."

Stiles bites his tongue to avoid saying what he truly has in mind ( _Damn right he's not. He's nothing like you, motherfucker_!). Instead, Stiles presses his hand hard against Scott's wound, feels as hot, thick blood slip through his fingers, can almost hear a racing heart beneath all that trembling flesh. Scott coughs, eyes closing.

"Please," says Allison. There are tears on her eyes, but her voice is steady. "Help us."

"I will once you kids get away from _it_." He says, cocks his gun. "I opened the door and I saw... he's... he's not human. He has to die. I have to do this."

"NO!" both Stiles and Allison yell as Agent McCall fires. Stiles ducks, covers Scott's body with his own. Allison gets her bow and arrow ready, shoots.

For a moment, there's only silence. 

"Stiles--" Then Allison is shaking his arm, but Stiles can't move. If he moves he's going to find out Scott is dead because he wasn't fast enough and Stiles can't, he just can't... " _Stiles_!"

Stiles opens his eyes, and he's not covering Scott any longer. Allison's hand is now a rigid, hurtful grip on his arm, fingernails digging into his skin. And standing before them there's Agent McCall with an arrow buried deep into his right eye socket. Or at least where his right eye socket _should_ be, because his whole face was wiped out clean. By his side, an equally faceless Scott has a bullet hole on his forehead.

"Noppera-bo." Allison whispers, fumbling awkwardly as she tries to pull an arrow from her quiver without breaking eye contact, her hands shaking badly. "Stiles, are you seeing this, right?"

Stiles wishes he isn't. "Yep," he replies, helps Allison on her feet. He remembers his bat and when he manages to retrieve it from the ground and looks up, the two shapes are a little closer than a moment before. He wonders what they're going to do if they _touch_ them. "Allison," he mutters. "I pretty much think we should run."

"To where?" she finally managed to fit an arrow on her bowstring. The shape that is Agent McCall doesn't seem to mind the one buried on its face, so Stiles doesn't know why she's even bothering. He feels the bat against his hand and wonders if it is going to be more effective. He doubts, but holds it tightly anyway.

Between keeping eye on the faceless things and his hands around his bat, Stiles only notices a sound coming from west when a slender figure comes into sight.

At first he thinks it's a third Noppera-bo, but once the body gets closer he realizes it belongs to a man he never saw before. A tall, pale man with a long bony face, red hair cut short, eyebrows almost invisible on top of alarming big blue eyes. The man is walking and talking in a cheerful tone, though Stiles can't make what he's saying. By his side, he feels as Allison moves her arm, aiming towards the newcomer.

"You saw me where I never was..." he declares, staring directly at Stiles. The man doesn't seem worried in the slightest about the two disturbing looking shapes right behind him. "...and where I could not be."

He stops between them and the faceless things. "And yet," the man continues. "Within that very place, my face you often see." He raises his arms, points to his lanky face. "What am I?"

The shapes don't move. Actually, if they had features, Stiles has this distinctive feeling they would just look confused by this third party. He doesn't know what to do, but attacking this man doesn't see the wisest option. No one on his right mind steps between two bizarre things and two teenagers carrying weapons if doesn't have a very good reason. Unless he's crazy and Stiles thinks he can deal with crazy. He raises his arm, then, makes the universal sign to ' _I'm here in peace_ ', asks Allison to lower her bow. The man smiles grows bigger.

"I'm sorry," tries Stiles. "Can you repeat that?"

The man nods. "You saw me where I never was and where I could not be." His voice is clear, but odd to Stiles' ears. It sounds fake, a mock-up. "And yet, within that very place, my face you often see." The man makes a big gesture on showing his hands like he's presenting his own face. "What am I?"

It sounds like a riddle. Stiles considers himself good with riddles. He imagines the man before him like a sphinx and grins. He can do this. Thinking _is_ his strong suit, he doesn't need powers to solve this. But what's it? Something that you see, but it's not there and you see it in the exactly same place? Stiles thinks about how the man moved his hands, like he's staring in some kind of mirror. It takes a few moments, but it comes to him. It's obviously, really, once you have the answer.

"A reflection," Stiles says. "You're a reflection."

"There you go." The man nods in approval. "Close your eyes now. They're here for you and will only leave when you decided they're not actually here." He explains. "Think about the real ones, who they're copying from. How they sound, how they smell, how they feel like."

Stiles eyes Allison and she shakes her head in agreement. Let her have Scott, he thinks, grateful she doesn't know Scott's dad enough to have to distinguish how Agent McCall's voice is an annoying sound in the back of Stiles' mind, as he watches eleven year old Scott coming back to his room with tears on the corner of his eyes, a heartbreaking look on his face as Stiles overhears his best friend's dad yelling to Melissa downstairs...

The faceless things vanish without a fuss. One moment they're there, bullet and arrow wounds in plain blank faces, and then they're not. Stiles feels like a ton was lifted out of his shoulders and he exhales, runs a free hand over his hair. 

" _How_...?" Allison recovers first, frowns, wants to know. Stiles looks between her and the man, who takes a few steps towards him. She doesn't pocket her arrow, but doesn't set it on the bowstring either.

"There's no effective way to _kill_ a Noppera-bo," the man says. "It's a spirit that--"

"It looked pretty real to me." Stiles interrupts. Though his hands are clean now, he still can feel the blood pouring off fake-Scott's chest and that's not a great memory.

The man doesn't look upset for being cut out. He actually beams like Stiles just made a particularly bright observation. "It's a spirit that can shape shift." He explains. "It only exists in the expense of your thoughts, your memories, your guilt." He looks over his shoulder, to the Nemeton, to the woods around them. "They're far from home, though."

"And you are...?" Allison is clearly uncomfortable to be around that man, her shoulder tensed up, her mouth a thin, impatient line.

"Oh," the man smiles briefly, like the thought of introducing himself never had occurred to him. "My name is William Barrow."

The man, Barrow, bows, an emaciated hand over his chest. He doesn't elaborate, though. Stiles is grateful he helped them, but in his experience that hardly comes without a price.

"How did you know they would be here?" he asks instead of saying thank you. He could feel bad for it later.

"When one does not know what it is, then it is something," Barrow replies. "But when one knows what it is, then it is nothing." He grins, clearly pleased with himself. Stile is afraid he may get tired of riddles pretty fast that way. That's when it occurs to him.

"A riddle," Stiles says and once he says, it's obvious. "The answer is riddle."

Barrow claps at him, throws his head back in a deep laugh. "Clever." He says and Stiles feels satisfied with himself despite the situation. It's good, that feeling. Being right. Consciously, Stiles knows this man is more than he's showing, but he's already caught up. He realizes he likes it, a good old-fashioned riddle. It's nothing like Deaton's, whose riddles are more like conundrums, full of questions and twists with no actual answers. "Okay," Barrow says, "One more."

The man grins, balls a hand into a fist, holds it closer to his face. "I am too much for one," he points to Stiles, wriggles his fingers free between the two of them. "Enough for two," then he gestures at them all, including Allison, and opens his hand in a wave to show it's empty. "But nothing to three." Barrow eyes him in anticipation. "What am I?"

Allison doesn't even give Stiles time to think. "A secret." She doesn't seem pleased with her result, though.

Barrow just ignores her. "So," he gazes at Stiles instead, tips his head a little, steps into his personal space. "Do you want to know a secret?"

Stiles opens his mouth to answer, hell yes, of course he wants, but Allison abruptly puts herself between him and Barrow, fits an arrow on her bow. "We are not here to guess," she says, pointing it directly to the man's forehead. "What about some straight answers?" 

"Ah, a hunter." Barrow seems amused, but not at all surprised. For a moment, Stiles feels completely forgotten. The man stares at Allison like she's finally worth of his time. "Code?"

If Allison is taken back by the question, she doesn't show. " _Nous protégeons ceux qui ne peuvent pas se protéger eux-mêmes_ ," she replies promptly.

"Are you sure, my dear?" Barrow asks like he's talking to a very small child. Stiles can almost feel contempt dripping from his big blue eyes.

"Definitely," Allison replies, eyes defiant, bow firm on her hands.

Barrow sighs deeply, almost theatrically, nods as though he's not very happy with what he just heard, but he would have to make do. He casts a look towards Stiles, gives him a little nod. Then Barrow stares directly at Allison, to make sure she's paying attention. 

"Si vis pacem, para bellum," he singsongs.

His big eyes settle on them for a few seconds after. Stiles finds it somehow disturbing, but after everything that happened, he's willing to give the man the benefit of the doubt. He's got a good eye for evil and something tells him Barrow is okay. Allison, on the other hand, looks downright murderous.

"As you wish," she replies keeping eye contact.

Barrow bows one last time, before turning on his feet and walking away. Stiles waits for him to disappear over the tree's line. He turns to Allison and asks. "Who's that? He looked like he knew you."

Allison doesn't reply until she's certain they're alone. Stiles fidgets, but waits. She shakes her head maybe a minute later, lowers the bow. "He must be one of the Valentinos, an old hunter family." She looks anxious. "My dad told me about them."

Stiles considers it for a second. Thinking it through, it kind makes sense to have different hunter families out there. Beacon Hills couldn't be the only guiding light for to the supernatural in the whole wide world.

"And what he said?" Stiles frowns at her. "I mean, right before he took off? It sounded bad."

"That's their code." Allison explains, finally putting the arrow back in her quiver. " _Si vis pacem, para bellum_ ," she repeats, a gloomy look on her features. "It's Latin for ' _If you want peace, prepare for war_ '."

 

 _Young men standing on the top of their own graves_  
_Wondering when Jesus comes are they gonna be saved_  
_Cruelty to the winner, bishop tells the king his lies_  
_Maybe you're a mourner_  
_Maybe you deserve to die_.  
**System of a Down – Soldier Side**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't possibly express how sorry I am for the delay. I just moved to a new apartment and the Internet is not working yet and everything is a bit of a mess (or still inside boxes). Plus, Uni is being a nightmare. I won't promise the next chapter for the very near future, but I can tell it's already outlined and have a couple of dialogues written down. Actually, this chapter here was suppose to end with the Halloween Party, but the whole Stiles and Allison at the Nemeton scene turned out a little bigger than I planned so I thought it would be best to deal with the party in the next one to work it properly.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for the comments and kudos, I hope you guys enjoyed this one. And if you have a little time to spare, I'd love to hear your thoughts about it. :) You can reach me @ queermadbaggins, my [tumblr](http://queermadbaggins.tumblr.com/), or leave a message in the comments' section.
> 
> By the way, I guess it's worth mentioning that I'm actually pretty bad with riddles, so I borrowed the ones I used in this chapter from [here](http://thinks.com/riddles/a1-riddles-ans.htm) and [here](http://dan.hersam.com/riddles.html). As for William Barrow, I just imagined how the character would be based on pictures of the actor and the few interviews JD gave about him. I probably got everything wrong, so at least there are no actual spoilers, lol. 'til next chapter, fellas!


	5. A lead role in a cage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles thinks about the way Derek's loft looked like the first time he stepped in the place. A bare mattress on the floor, the wooden table and a few books. He looks around, but besides Derek's bed that has been covered with a dark sheet, a couple of deep orange plastic pumpkins and a fake glowing skeleton, the rest of his things are nowhere to be seen. He wonders if Derek took them with him to _wherever_ he went. Stiles wonders if is he okay, wherever he is.

"What you are supposed to be anyway?"

Stiles sighs as Lydia frowns and realizes he doesn't really know or care about the answer. If he thought for a minute that being threatened by a pair of freakish faceless Japanese shapeshifter ghosts would be the highest point of his day, he should have thought again. After Barrow slipped through the woods, leaving him and Allison alone, Stiles managed to make his way back home despite the new pieces of information burning inside his skull. A new hunter family in Beacon Hills? That couldn't end well. Barrow seemed harmless enough, despite his weirdness with the riddles and all. Also, he actually helped them out.

Once Stiles finally arrived home he only had about half an hour before being too late for school, so he hurried to change his clothes (the ones he was wearing had dirt stains for throwing himself on the ground in order to protect fake-Scott from fake-Scott's dad) when he remembered about the party later. Gazing around his room, he quickly realized two things: A) he had any less desire to attend it at each passing minute, but; B) since he's going no matter what, he will need to come out with some sort of a costume, because if he showed up wearing something like his lacrosse gear Lydia would probably drown him in the punch bowl.

He looked at the aluminum bat on his hand and considered he didn't feel like leaving it behind. Since he used it to save his dad at the Nemeton, then Derek retrieving it for him right after, he felt compelled to have it within his hand's reach all times. There's no way he would fit on his kid baseball's clothes, so best to think in an alternative. The idea came as Stiles glanced at the fake blood he had bought just a few days back. He could easily splatter it over the bat and some old clothes and say he was a zombie apocalypse's survivor or something. Yes, that probably would do the trick.

Stiles read the instructions on the back of the bottle. The thing needed about seven hours to stick to the fabric, so better do it before school. He chose an old light gray hoodie he hadn't wore for years and a pair of jeans that were actually too tight on him, but since it was only for a night it wouldn't be the end of the world. Stiles left the clothes drying in fake blood over his bed and drove to school with only a couple of minutes to spare to Finstock's class. Halfway through it, his stomach remembered him he hadn't eaten in several hours and Scott looked over with sympathy and slipped Stiles a pack of crackers. Stiles smiled in gratitude, but only managed to eat a couple before he was pulled out of school on Agent McCall's orders.

He wasn't surprised, really. His dad warmed him he would eventually be called in to give an official statement about the whole kidnapping event. For while Stiles really thought they had forget about him, for three weeks had passed and nothing. Stiles tried texting Scott once he was left alone inside a room, but there was no cell reception and as he stared at the empty chair across the table, realizing he's been there for a whole hour, he felt something was definitely off. Because it was pretty obvious Stiles wasn't called there just to corroborate with the statement their parents gave the morning after the lunar eclipse. That Ms. Blake was probably into some sort of crazy-ass devil worshipping cult vibe. That it was just a strike of luck Stiles managed to find her den in the woods and let them go before she had the chance to kill them, like she did with all the others. But a whole new hour had to pass before Stiles was absolutely sure what that was all about.

They were making him _sweat_.

Stiles defenses were sky high about the time Agent McCall slipped inside the room. He went from thinking about acting like he didn't really mind being there (to show he had nothing to hide) to remembering all the things he read about criminal behavior. Apparently, guilty people tend to fall into some sort of pattern. They have a lie they need to tell and they stick to it, word by word. Despite the anxiety, they actually become quiet and reserved. Innocent people are more predisposed to lose control, yell and to mix their words up, though their story stands. Most of time, they ended up breaking apart and crying.

Stiles didn't plan to cry, but he wouldn't mind yelling at Scott's dad.

Agent McCall apologized for taking so long to show up and claimed there some misunderstanding with his instructions. Apparently, he had said to collect Stiles an hour _after_ lunch, not before, because he had an important meeting in the morning he couldn't just reschedule. Stiles was ready to say something about how some people were so full of bullshit, but what escaped from his mouth was a sarcastic ' _Oh, that's okay, you guys actually did me a favor. Pulling me out of Finstock's class...? Economics, man._ '. Scott's dad wasn't impressed by his bravado, but he grinned nevertheless. Stiles wondered how much of his own son the man saw on him. Despite the fact that he and Scott weren't anything alike, they grew up together. How someone could be that spineless, Stiles had no idea. He would rather be there than having the man dragging Scott in, though. His best friend didn't need this.

But it took another couple of hours to Agent McCall finally revel why Stiles was really there. First, the man walked him through the events before the lunar eclipse, the death of Heather, the boy Lydia found by the swimming pool, that girl Emily. Then the people from school, Kyle, Mrs. Harris, the music teacher, Mr. Westover. The doctors. Tara. He agreed there were killed by the same person, with the whole strangling, head bashing and throat cutting business. Ms. Blake's file at the school confirmed the fingerprints found in some of the scenes were in fact hers. Those facts plus their parents' testimonies pretty much framed Ms. Blake, so all they had to do was to find where she was hiding.

Since Stiles was pretty sure that wasn't going to happen anytime soon, he just waited for to the blow. It came after Agent McCall asked if he wanted some water, to which Stiles declined. The man had a glass brought over anyway, just to mess with him. Then Scott's dad inquired how Stiles found his dad and the others. Stiles had the answer ready for weeks. He explain how he drove to the general direction Ms. Blake used to do after school, entered the preserved on the way and kept looking the whole night. He didn't call the police because he thought no one would believe him. It wasn't the best answer, Stiles knew, but he couldn't come up with a different one. Agent McCall didn't tell him he didn't believe it though, he just scribbled something down on his notebook and made some light observation about Stiles probably knowing those woods pretty well, right, to find them in such short notice.

Then, like the questioning was all over and they were just making chitchat, he started on about the other two bodies recently found in the woods. The ones missing Ms. Blake's trademark signs. A teenager girl and a boy found within a couple of weeks apart. A girl and a boy who had ran away together, months ago. A girl and a boy both slashed to death, claw marks over their bodies. The girl and the boy he had helped looking for all summer. A girl and a boy whose bodies Stiles helped to dispose, using all counter-forensic measures he knew. Stiles felt bile rise from his empty stomach and fought hard the urge to thrown the glass of water on Agent McCall's face.

He took a sip of it, instead.

' _An animal attack, wasn't it?_ ' Stiles aimed for look surprised but not really interested. Scott's dad grinned widely at him. He thought about the Noppera-bo in the woods, earlier. The mocked version of the man before him. Stiles realized the real deal was ten times worse.

' _A lot of animal attacks on this area_ ,' Agent McCall commented lightly at him. ' _Those woods... they aren't very safe, are they?_ ' and Stiles stayed quiet as long as he could, but as Scott's dad stared him down, he felt he had to do something, so he just nodded in agreement. And Stiles only realized he had made a great mistake when the man beamed at his gesture. ' _And yet_ ,' Agent McCall straightened his shoulders and put both of his hands over the table, fingers entangled, eyes trained on him. ' _You thought it would be a good idea to take a little stroll in those exact same woods this morning, right before school_.'

Stiles recovered faster than he hoped. He looked offended and took a deep breath before asking since when that has become illegal. Scott's dad didn't rise to his provocation, just asked a simple and plain ' _What were you doing in the woods this morning, Stiles?_ ' to which he just shrugged and said he was practicing for the lacrosse season. Agent McCall glanced over his notes and frowned. ' _With a baseball bat?_ ' and Stiles had to bite inside his cheeks to not tell the man to _shove_ it. He was on record, after all.

He tried to not think about who could've tipped Agent McCall, because that wouldn't do him any favors right now. Stiles looked around, instead, trying to come out with something clever to say. Anything at all. It didn't come.

' _Does my dad know I'm here?_ ' he asked then. Stiles didn't like the idea of resorting to his dad, who had enough problems already, but he couldn't deal with this any longer. Stiles had started to feel his heart beating fast, his breathing becoming hard to catch. The last thing he needed was to have a full panic attack in front of Agent McCall, who actually smiled pleasantly at the mention of Stiles' dad. ' _Do you want to phone him?_ ' he suggested, that smile turning into a smirk. Stiles didn't fail to grasp the not-so-subtle insinuation.

' _I'm under arrest?_ ' he asked then, loud and clear. Stiles knew not even FBI Agent McCall would push this far, though. One thing was to poke his best friend's son about some events he maybe has been poorly involved with. Other thing, completely different, was to implicate, in a station full of officers who had watched him grown, that the _sheriff's kid_ had some inside knowledge about bodies with claw marks found in the woods, no matter how actually right the man was about that.

Scott's dad dismissed him with a warming about trying to be careful. For his dad's sake, he added. ' _We don't want him hitting the bottle again, do we?_ ' but Stiles ignored him, grabbed his backpack and left the room without looking back.

It was only when he took his phone out of his pocket and checked for signal to call Scott to pick him up that Stiles noticed his hands are shaking badly. He ended up walking to the school just to calm down. By the time he managed to drive Roscoe back home it was already dark. Stiles sighed deeply as he realized he had less than an hour to shower, put on his stupid costume and go to the Lydia's Halloween Party on Derek's loft. 

The bad news weren't over yet, though. Once Stiles reached his room, he frowned at a piece of red clothing on his bed he didn't recognize. It took him a moment to understand that was his former gray hoodie. The fake blood was so cheap it didn't work well with the hoodie's fabric, especially after more than ten hours of direct contact. The previously dots Stiles had splattered over the material had spread out, dyeing almost its entire surface. So, instead of a gray hoodie with some splashes of red, Stiles got a red hoodie with occasional gray areas. Just _perfect_.

Hence, when Lydia asks him "What you are supposed to be anyway?" as Stiles finally arrives, he fights the urge to throw up everything about the really long day he had. Instead he just shrugs and asks for her to point him in the general direction of the booze. Before he walks away though, Lydia manages to wrap a neon glow bracelet around his wrist and to push a fluorescent bag in his empty hand (his bat well secured on the other), which is stuffed full with various types of candy, plus condoms and antacids. Stiles can't help grinning at how throughout Lydia has to be about everything and decides he's going to enjoy this party even if it kills him.

Despite the fact that Lydia opted for holding a black light party, the decoration is very classic: skulls, a black raven, chandeliers covered in synthetic spider web and plastic human organs inside glass' boxes, complemented with bloody palm prints all over. Most of his friends have arrived already, but all of them look pretty busy, so Stiles makes his way to the table where the punch bowl has floating fluorescent silicone eyeballs. He pours a cup and swallows it in one single gulp. The taste is very sweet, but still burns all the way down his throat and Stiles fumbles inside the bag Lydia gave him for something substantial to put in his stomach. Between being threatened by the Japanese things and interrogated by Scott's dad, he didn't have the chance to have a proper meal all day long. He eats a chocolate bar as he watches the people dancing or chatting or positively ignoring each other, which is the obvious case for Scott and Allison.

Near the table, Allison has her arms around Isaac's shoulders as they dance. Her costume is unmistakable. A yellow suit with black stripes and a katana on her back had turned her in somehow deadlier version of Beatrix Kiddo of Tarantino's _Kill Bill_. Stiles couldn't make Isaac's costume, though. Apart from some sort of ritualistic painting all over his face, the rest of his clothing doesn't exactly strike out. On the other side of the room, Scott has his back to him, but Stiles could recognize that outfit anywhere. He feels a deep sense of pride as he glances at Scott as Luke Skywalker, with a handmade lightsaber and everything, busy chatting with Kira, who happens to be dressed up as a nurse. Oh, _the irony_ , Stiles thinks as he knocks down his second cup of punch.

There are the lovebirds matched sets, of course. Danny and Ethan, respectively dressed up as Ash from _Evil Dead_ and Leatherface, seem to be having some difficulties in dancing and holding their paper mache chainsaws at the same time. Aiden looks ridiculous in a Peter Pan setup to match Lydia's Tinker Bell green dress. Feeling a little left aside in a place full of couples, Stiles turns to the few other people moving around. He distinguishes a couple of faces from school, but doesn't exactly feel like talking to any of them, so he takes another sip of a new cup of the punch and leans against the table.

Stiles thinks about the way Derek's loft looked like the first time he stepped in the place. A bare mattress on the floor, the wooden table and a few books. He looks around, but besides Derek's bed that has been covered with a dark sheet, a couple of deep orange plastic pumpkins and a fake glowing skeleton, the rest of his things are nowhere to be seen. Stiles doesn't really remember spotting Derek's books the last time he was in the loft, a week earlier at Lydia's request, either. He wonders if Derek took them with him to _wherever_ he went. Stiles wonders if is he okay, wherever he is. Since that phone call, he hasn't heard from him.

He thought about sending another text, but he couldn't come up with anything to say and besides, Stiles had more pressing issues to worry about. What are the odds, anyway, that Derek maybe knew something about the freakish Japanese things? Stiles bets he knows about this new (old?) hunter family, though. He's actually about to snap a shot of the party and send it to Derek along with a Happy Halloween's message when someone dressed up in one of those ancient Roman robes emerges from the mist caused by a fog machine and passes by him, a quiver full of arrows on her back, a compound bow on her hands.

For a second Stiles frowns and asks himself why Allison would've changed her costume in the middle of the party, but once he sets eyes on this person, what he sees is a young woman with olive skin that Stiles doesn't recognize from the school, though she's exactly not strange to him. He doesn't know from where exactly, but he's pretty sure he saw her before. The woman moves quickly, walking towards Allison and Isaac. Stiles tries to place her face, but it's too dark and the punch must be starting to make some effect in his practically empty stomach, because he feels slightly lightheaded. He's excused on thinking it further as Lydia pokes him with her wand.

"I have a surprise for you." She smiles mischievously as their eyes meet.

Stiles doesn't have time to say a word before Lydia just pushes someone right in front of his face. Doesn't take him two seconds to recognize the man before him, even if his brown hair is currently sparkled with fake blood and his face covered in gray makeup that make his green eyes look out of place. He's still wearing a police uniform, but it's an old, torn out one and his chest is currently dripping fake blood from a prosthetic exit wound.

Zombie Deputy Parrish smiles shyly at him and Stiles' mind is taken by all variations of "you've got to be kidding me", but Lydia has already returned to Aiden Pan's side. She has the nerve to wink at him before she turns her back, though. Stiles doesn't have a choice but to look back at the person before him and he feels his stomach turning. God, the last thing he needs is to get sick all over his dad's deputy.

"I should have recognized you." Parrish says as way of greeting, his voice barely perceptible over the music. "There's this portrait on your father's desk."

Stiles doesn't know how to answer that. The attack of the faceless Japanese shapeshifter ghosts kept his mind busy enough for him to ignore what happened on his dad's office a week ago. Having the responsible for the deed right in front of him makes to continue to do the ignoring slightly more difficult. Stiles opens his mouth, but no words come out. Hitting himself with the bat in his hand feels really tempting all of sudden. 

"It's the hair, I think." Parrish points out. "You look older this way."

Stiles can't help snorting. _So, you didn't think I was jailbait, then?_ he almost says, but stops himself just in time. He takes another sip of his punch to calm his nerves. It does the exact opposite and Parrish smiles awkwardly as he puts down the cup with a thud. Stiles rolls his eyes at him. "Seriously?" he asks. "I'm old enough to be hit on, but not to drink some punch?"

Parrish's smile fail for a moment, but he recovers quickly. "I'm not on clock." He lifts his shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. Stiles doesn't know what to make of that. "I'm sorry," he adds then. "Your friend found me on Facebook, invited me over. I should have known it wasn't a good idea." He closes his mouth, nods, prepares to leave.

"Wait." Says Stiles in a hurry. "That's okay. It's just--" he starts, not sure where begin. "I'm not really..."

"Into older guys?" Parrish lifts an eyebrow. "Gay?"

"... not really _used_ to this." Stiles sighs heavily. "I'm mean, you see Lydia over there?" He points to where she seems to be really worried about some odd decoration on the wall. "For half of my life she was the only one I saw, you know? It may be a little pathetic, but this is still new to me, all of this. I'm not complying, it's just..." Stiles looks around, bits on his lower lip. Stops once he notices Parrish's eyes fixed on him. "I just have a lot in my mind right now."

"I know." He says. "You father told me."

Stiles tries really hard not to gasp, and only half-manages it. His voice comes out a bit dazed."Did he?"

"Yes." Parrish shrugs. "You have this... folklore study group with your friends, so you guys do a lot of research, read archaic Latin and stuff? He said you're writing the story for an online game or something? Deadline closing by?"

Stiles knows he probably owns his dad a cheeseburger or two, now. With actual meat. He definitely had so much to learn from his old man. "Yep." He manages to utter. "Lots, lots of research. Old, dusty, falling apart books. I don't know how the librarian still hasn't kicked my butt."

"Well." Parrish smirks. "It's a really cute butt." Stiles feels his cheeks burn. He's suddenly very conscious of the maybe a bit _too _tight pair of jeans he chose to wear and feels absolutely grateful it's pretty dark in there. "Sorry, that's inappropriate." Parrish says. He doesn't seem sorry at all, though.__

__Stiles wonders what would be like to meet someone like him under different circumstances. With him not having to worry about foreign shifters, hunter families, with the fact that he _had to die_ for his dad to live and doing so, he put his town under imminent supernatural siege. Stiles wonders how would feel having only to worry about his dad's deputy hitting on him._ _

__"It's okay," he replies, because in the light of the great scheme of things, this is probably the most ordinary thing to be happening to him. "I won't be seventeen forever." Stiles smiles nervously, tilts his head. "I'm almost seventeen and _half_ , actually."_ _

__"Really?" asks Parrish, takes a step closer. Stiles doesn't move. "I call it pretty manageable."_ _

__"Well." Stiles starts. "When I turn eighteen you would be like what, thirty? People make work with less."_ _

__Parrish makes an offended face. "I'm only twenty three."_ _

__"Oh my god, that much?" Stiles laughs and in a moment, Parrish is laughing right there with him. This is nice, he thinks, having a normal conversation that doesn't involve werewolves, alphas, shifters, people he cares about being ritualistic sacrificed. Lydia was right. They needed that party._ _

__Stiles reaches for his cup of punch just to have something to do with his idle hand and freezes as he finds Parrish's on the way. They stare at each other and for a second, for a really long second Stiles is pretty sure Parrish is going to kiss him. He braces himself for it, realizes he doesn't mind that this guy is older or even that he's his dad's deputy. Maybe it's the string of sleepless nights, maybe it's the nightmares, the hallucinations. Maybe it's just the little alcohol setting in his empty stomach, but Stiles is ready for it, whatever it is._ _

__That's when Kira screams._ _

__It's just one long, yelp of surprise, actually. Stiles wasn't paying attention, of course, but what he can gather from a quick look around it's that that young woman wearing a Roman robe somehow managed to knock Werewolf Isaac Lahey down and now has a very lethal loaded compound bow pointed to the back of his neck. Allison reached for the katana on her back and though Stiles never saw her draw a sword before, he's willing to bet Allison knows what she's doing. It looks like a stalemate, if he ever seen one._ _

__Someone had turned the normal lights on, put the music off. Stiles notices Scott didn't move from his spot by Kira's side, though he had both hands balled into fists, his lightsaber somewhere forgotten. His eyes are barely flashing red and Stiles thinks it's really impressive. He haven't any idea Scott's control was so in check. Still, they could use a little aggression right now. Isaac wasn't exactly Stiles' favorite, but he's pretty sure Allison and Scott won't just stand by and watch him being hurt. And he has every problem with Scott and Allison putting themselves in any line of fire. Without thinking through, he quickly moves towards the middle of the fight, joins his aluminum bat to Allison's samurai sword. The woman in Roman robes doesn't even bat an eyelash at this._ _

__"Who are you?" then Scott walks forward as well, put himself by Stiles' side. "There are innocent people here."_ _

___Shit_ , Stiles thinks. How they're going to explain this to Danny, Kira, not to mention Parrish and the handful of other... civilians among them. _ _

__"Human." The woman replies, a defiant look on her face. "You?"_ _

__By the corner of his eyes, Stiles watches as Scott opens his mouth, but he doesn't reply. Stiles thinks that would be a really good time for him to remember where in the hell he saw that woman before, but he finds his mind completely blank. He grips harder the bat between his hands. Wonders if his training by the Nemeton has improved his reflexes. He doesn't really want to put it to the test, though._ _

__"Okay, okay." And Stiles' heart skips a beat when Parrish speaks up, lifts his badge above his head. "Let's all calm down here. I'm sure someone just had too much to drink and everything will look pretty stupid in the morning."_ _

__The bow on the woman's hands is a big black deadly looking thing and she doesn't move it not even by an inch at Parrish's words. Isaac starts to wake up, though, small little shifts from his spot on the floor and Stiles doesn't think it can be any good. If he fully wakes up and settles the woman off, god knows what would happen. Stiles glances at Parrish, who's taking shorts, steady steps towards them and his heart starts beating up faster. The last thing he needs is having his dad to lose another deputy to Beacon Hills' supernatural shenanigans. None of them signed up for this shit._ _

__So Stiles looks around. Looks for a way out. He meets Danny's huge eyes, notices how Ethan has positioned himself between him and the impending fight. Lydia is gazing over them with a curious look. By her side, Aiden looks like a really pissed off overgrown kid. Despite the previous screaming, Kira doesn't seem too distressed anymore, but her eyes are glued on Scott. Except for Parrish, nobody is moving. Stiles feels hot inside his hoodie, hands sweating against his bat, the air inside the loft becoming thinner by the second. He knows he needs to do something and needs to do it very soon._ _

__Curiously, is the woman in the Roman robes the first one to make a move, as she abruptly darts her eyes from Allison's katana to the loft's entrance. Stiles hasn't realized there's someone else there and he definitely feels the oxygen fail him as he recognizes who this is._ _

__By the open door, Derek has a travel bag in one of his hands and his lips are slightly parted like he couldn't just believe his eyes. If wasn't for the whole death threatening drama all over their hands, Stiles would find his face blatantly hilarious. Somehow, it helps him breath._ _

__"You know what, nephew." And here comes Peter's voice, as he steps next to Derek, a smug expression on his face. "Somehow I don't think this is your welcome back party."_ _

__*_ _

___~ Eight weeks ago_._ _

__

__"Dude, this is sick."_ _

__The smell of burned flesh was almost unbearable and knowing that it belonged to his best friend didn't make it any easier. Stiles tried to breathe through his mouth and thought it was a good thing Scott passed out halfway through the procedure, because he wasn't sure he could deal with the screaming in top of the smell any longer. Stiles kept holding Scott in place, just for safety measure, though. It turned out things went a lot faster without him fighting the torch. A couple of minutes later Derek had put down the flame, announced they're done._ _

__"He's really out?" Stiles asked, looking down to Scott. He had some questions to ask and he would rather do it now than later._ _

__"Yep," said Derek as he examined Scott's arm where the two black bands seemed to have stuck for good now. "The pain was too much, this was the best way his body found to deal with it."_ _

__Stiles wasn't convinced. He lowered his head a bit, close to Scott's face. He was able to hear his breathing, watched the slow up and down movement of his chest._ _

__"Scott, come on, buddy." He said out loud, but he got no reaction from Scott."Hey, look. Is that Allison?" He tried, but still nothing. "Yep, he's out."_ _

__Derek rolled his eyes at him. "You're a terrible friend."_ _

__"I'm not the one who literally set his skin on fire." Stiles replied, arms crossed over his chest._ _

__Derek ignored it, got up, went to check on Isaac, still passed out on a table. It took him a couple of seconds before he looked over his shoulder and replied. "He _literally_ asked for it, you know."_ _

__"Right." Stiles waved one of his hands in front of his face. "Hey, Derek, would you help me to scar my body permanently? Of course, Scott, that's what I'm here for! Please, take a seat and make yourself comfortable while I watch you scream your lungs off."_ _

__Derek frowned. "Will you just say it? We both know this isn't just about the goddamn tattoo."_ _

__Stiles took a deep breath. Yes, Derek's right. It wasn't about the tattoo. Stiles didn't like it, not even a bit, but that was probably the least of their problems right now. The biggest one was laying on a table with a wound caused by an alpha that wasn't Derek. They were all in very serious shit. Stiles ran a hand over his face, his hair. He still hasn't got used to wear it longer._ _

__"Do you know which page he was on when he was attacked?" Stiles asked, trying to remember if he had in his phone a version of the county's known abandoned buildings' list he had arranged for Derek a couple of weeks back._ _

__"No, Isaac had the whole thing with him and just went to wherever felt right." Derek shook his head. "Peter was the one who just took one page at time. I was checking on an abandoned building he spotted two days ago when--"_ _

__"That's why you didn't bother to return any of Isaac's calls?" Stiles interrupted him. "That's why Scott's mom had to pull him out in the middle of the class?"_ _

__Derek sighed heavily, ran a hand over his face, his beard a bit longer than the last time Stiles saw him._ _

__"I haven't got any signal down there." Derek left Isaac's side, walked closer to Stiles. "I came the fastest I could."_ _

__Stiles stared him down. "He should've called _me_ , then."_ _

__"You?" Derek raised his eyebrows in a way Stiles had labeled as 'I know what you're doing and you have no business going down that road'. "What could have you done, Stiles? Fight that Alpha off all by yourself?"_ _

__"So now this is my fault?" Stiles shot back. God, he hated when Derek played the 'you're just a puny human' card. "It's my fault you never wanted me to have tactical meetings with the rest of your pack?"_ _

__Derek took a deep breath. "You were the one who didn't want to get him involved." Derek pointed to Scott passed out on the chair. "What would've happened if Isaac went to your house and Scott was over there, hm? He would have sensed him _on the spot_. I'm an Alpha, I can hide myself."_ _

__Stiles couldn't really argue with that. Yes, he didn't want Scott to know. He didn't want him to get involved. That's why he tried to talk Scott out of asking Derek for help with the tattoo earlier that day. Because somehow Stiles knew that by just putting his eyes on Derek, Scott somehow would see how bad things were. He would ask why Derek looked like he had the weight of the world over his shoulders and being the decent guy he was, Scott would want to help._ _

__"I'm sorry, it's just..." Stiles dropped his arms down to his sides, and balled both of his hands into fists. "It's been a long day, alright? A bunch of birds just went all Hitchcock on my class and I don't know, man. It's not good."_ _

__Derek raised an eyebrow. "Do you think it has something to do with the Alpha pack?"_ _

__Stiles shrugged. "We got attacked by a deer in the middle of the road and Isaac is sent to a hospital at the same evening? It can't be a coincidence."_ _

__He watched as Derek looked sideways to the table. Stiles didn't really get the whole Alpha x Beta co-dependency relationship, but watching to Derek struggle with Erica and Boyd's absence for the entire summer put the thing under a whole new perspective. "Is he okay?" He asked, then, because he knew it mattered._ _

__Derek blinked, turned his eyes away from the table. "He will... once he wakes up."_ _

__Stiles nodded, looked back to Scott. He still seemed pretty dead to the world. He wondered if Scott will be okay once he woke up, too. It won't do Stiles any good to think about that now, though._ _

__"So," he started, trying to organize his thoughts. "We don't have any idea where Isaac was when he got attacked?"_ _

__Derek shook his head, a hard expression in his face. Stiles tried to remember he was probably madder than himself about all that. It was Erica and Boyd they were talking about._ _

__"If he remembers only the last places he's been at, we can check them out of the list, narrow things down..."_ _

__" _If?_ " Stiles raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"_ _

__"They could've killed him." Derek said firmly. "He's injured, yes, but he's alive and... he _got out_. Unless he had help, I mean, Alphas can erase your memories, you know?"_ _

__Stiles didn't know, but he nodded, because he saw Derek's point. "So there's no chance he remembers what happened?"_ _

__"I don't know." Derek shrugged. "Maybe."_ _

__And Stiles knew that that 'maybe' sounded more like a 'no chance in hell', but perhaps it was just Derek's pessimism talking. If Isaac didn't remember a thing, though, it was probably time to get pessimistic. After all that work, they couldn't be back at square one._ _

__Over the last four months, sometimes Stiles would ask himself why he was really so keen on keeping Scott on the dark. If was really just to spare him. Maybe Stiles was being selfish. Maybe they should just tell him everything. But once he put his eyes on Scott's sleeping frame, he gazed over the two bands on his arm, and thought of all that talk about Allison, about the space Scott was giving her, Stiles knew Scott deserved better than worrying himself sick with Alpha packs and missing teenager werewolves._ _

__He deserved better._ _

__"And you sure Scott doesn't know anything?"_ _

__Derek crossed his arms over his chest, turned his body so he would look over Scott too._ _

__"He hasn't had the chance to talk to Isaac," he explained. "And I just told him that that Alpha was from a rival pack and that was my problem."_ _

__Stiles snorted. "Scott is never going to go quiet about it, you know."_ _

__Derek sighed. "What you have me do?"_ _

__He thought about it for a moment. Nothing came to him. "I don't know, man." Stiles replied. "I mean, he's no child. He can make his own goddamn decisions, it's just--"_ _

__Derek snorted too. "He usually doesn't make the best ones."_ _

__"Yeah," Stiles eyed Derek sideways. "He just trusted _you_ to burn his arm."_ _

__Derek pulled on an offended face, but couldn't make it last. He shook his head to cover a smile. Stiles was about to tease him about that, when a thought occurred to him._ _

__"Who did it for you?" He squinted, turning to face him. "The triskele?"_ _

__Derek kept his arms crossed, but Stiles noticed how he shifted his shoulders like he suddenly got an itch he badly needed to scratch. He knew then he just made a really personal question. Stiles stumbled over some of them during the summer, most of times without realizing it until Derek just changed the subject._ _

__This time, though, he didn't._ _

__"Peter." Said Derek, his voice quiet and steady._ _

__Stiles couldn't help gapping at him. " _What?_ "_ _

__Derek didn't reply. He didn't even turn his head. "I'm not saying it again."_ _

__"Did you seriously trust that guy to hold a flaming torch to your back?"_ _

__And Stiles watched as Derek shrugged, obviously uncomfortable with the whole direction that conversation was taking._ _

__"He wasn't always like that, alright? He used to--"_ _

__But what exactly Peter used to Stiles didn't get to know, because Scott chose that precisely moment to gasp into consciousness._ _

__*_ _

__"So you have found it."_ _

__Derek barely has the chance to register Scott's odd choice of words to him when Allison, taking advantage of the distraction caused by his sudden arrival, swings the sword on her hands towards the unprotected neck of the woman who's threatening Isaac. The woman looks around her late twenties, has a dark olive skin and wears her curly brown hair in a high pony tail. Even if Derek had a single doubt about her identity, her fast reaction would've confirmed it. Valentino makes Argent pause the blade just an inch away from her neck as she aims an arrow right between Allison's eyes. It's hard to say who has the upper hand, but Derek is not eager to find out. That place has seen enough bloodshed._ _

__" _For however strong you may be in respect of your army_ ," he recites, then, praying he remembers the whole thing right. " _... it is essential that in entering a new province you should have the good will of its inhabitants_."_ _

__That gets Valentino's attention. Her whole expression changes and she grins widely, though her hands remain steady in the bow. The rest of the room seems positively bewildered. Stiles looks at Derek like he just grew a second head. Allison swallows heavily, the tip of Valentino's arrow hazardously near her throat. Scott's eyes are bleeding red._ _

__"To hold the new province securely, though," the woman replies, her accent strange to Derek's ears, eyes fixed on Allison's face. " _... it is enough to have rooted out the line of the reigning Prince_."_ _

__Derek immediately regrets having brought the subject up. He should know better. For the Valentino's code is tough, but it was centuries old only because it worked and it worked well, even if it is in some detached, self-righteous logic sort of way. He gazes around the room, feeling cold in his bones. Somehow, Derek knows there's no way he could manage to get all these people out of there without anyone being badly injured in the process. Not to mention that some of these people obviously had no idea there are werewolves in the world, let alone among them. Having two hunters pointing weapons to each other over Isaac's unconscious body makes the situation a lot trickier._ _

__He weights the pros and cons of wolfing out in front of a bunch of clueless humans and is about to do exactly that when he realizes he can't. Derek doesn't know how or why, but he just can't. Somehow it resembles the feeling at the lunar eclipse, just toned-down, like if only he put his mind into it he'd eventually managed the transformation. It's the same as being drugged by wolfsbane, except he didn't feel like he was about to die. Maybe the Valentino woman sprayed something in the air? There's all this mist inside the loft. Derek turns to Peter and realizes he isn't the only one to feel that way, but unlike himself, his uncle doesn't seem too worried about the potential mayhem. He's actually grinning._ _

__"You see, Sarita," he begins and Derek is not surprised in the slightest that Peter knows her first name. "The new prince _do_ can gain power by extinguishing the old one, but maybe you're not in position to inflict all the _injuries you must at a stroke_." He smiles smugly, puts his hands behind his back. "Because let's be honest here. Even if you could take all of us, and I can assure you, there's a significant number of all of _us_ here, the ones most likely to suffer are the subjects you should be so eager to keep safe."_ _

__Derek watches as the woman, Sarita, blinks at Peter's words before she exhales heavily. He can almost _hear_ her heartbeat speeding up as she locks eyes with Allison and as in a mutual agreement, both of them lower their weapons at once. Derek lets out a breath he didn't even realize he was holding back. Sarita, arrow still knocked in, takes a few steps back, always keeping everyone in her line of sight, never turning her back to Allison or Peter and Derek. Graciously, she manages to climb up the couple of steps by the loft's entrance and tilts her head in a clear "this isn't over yet" statement, before slipping out the room._ _

__Around the loft everyone looks definitely relived by her departure. Scott's eyes have returned to normal and he immediately helps to lift Isaac up. Only then Derek notices his former beta is wearing some sort of painting all over his face. He doesn't really know what to make of it. He recognizes some of the other costumes people are wearing, though he still wonders whose idea was to throw a party in his loft. Derek knows he should feel pissed off about it, but for now he's mostly just glad they are all okay._ _

__"Alright. Party is over, kids." Peter raises both of his hands, claps once. "Time to trick or treat your way back home. Off you go."_ _

__The ones Derek doesn't recognize are the first to move. In duo or trios they gather their friends and flee by the front door, all of them casting Lydia a questioning look on their way out. Soon enough the only people Derek doesn't know the names are an Asian girl near Scott, who must be the Kitsune Peter warned him about, and a man dressed in torn out police clothes, with a deputy badge in his hands. The man's face is still deeply puzzled and Derek can't really blame him, but before he can say anything on the matter, Stiles rushes towards the man wearing an anxious expression on his face._ _

__"I think we're good now," he says in a quiet tone. "Probably just a gang member, you know. This neighborhood is not exactly a quiet one. "_ _

__"I have to call the station. We can still track her," the man replies, pocketing his badge. An actual cop, then. "No one should get away with it." He shakes his head at Stiles and what a cop would be doing in a teenager party Derek haven't the slightest. He knew the Sheriff was now aware of everything, so maybe he put someone of the force to keep his son in check? It didn't sound like something Stiles would be okay with, though._ _

__Stiles catches Derek staring at them, so he moves closer to the man, his tone hushed. "You're right, but she's gone now and I really could use your help to get my friend here to a hospital." Stiles points to Isaac, who seems okay despite looking a bit confused, as Scott and Allison check up on him. "Everyone else had something to drink, so, can you drive them there? Here, take my jeep." Then Stiles hands his keys, their fingers touching a little longer than strictly necessary in the process. Derek averts his eyes, focus on Isaac who doesn't seem able to stand on his own yet. He doesn't turn off the conversation taking place only a couple of meters away, though. "Just drop Roscoe off the station. My dad can drive him home later."_ _

__The man seems unconvinced and Derek overhears as Stiles' heart starts to speed up a little. "Please," he asks and by the corner of his eyes, Derek sees as Stiles puts a hand on the man's shoulder, who gazes at Stiles for a few seconds, before finally nodding in agreement. "Thanks, Parrish. I owe you one."_ _

__The man, Parrish, smiles briefly and Derek could swear he sees a shade of red covering his cheeks. The light on the place wasn't exactly great, then, so he could be wrong. He doesn't have much time to think about that, though, because in the next second Parrish walks over and puts one of Isaac's arms around his shoulders, to help him walk. Scott has Isaac's right flank and he looks up at Derek on their way out._ _

__"I'm glad you're back." Scott says with a small smile as he passes by. Isaac stays silence, but he doesn't seem able to focus on anything, really. On the other hand, Parish stares at Derek for a long second, like he suddenly saw a familiar face. Derek wonders if there's still a mug shot of him somewhere in the police station. Allison only gives him a polite nod and the Asian girl barely lifts her eyes. Derek realizes he can't sense a thing off on her. Maybe Peter was wrong about the whole Kitsune thing. He plans to talk with Scott about it later, though._ _

__"You guys should take Danny home." Lydia says to the twins, who had just stood by, both looking lost, as Scott took off. Derek recognizes that look. They have been waiting for orders that never came. He wonders if Scott has accepted them in his pack yet. The idea gives him a bitter taste in his mouth. He still can feel their hands forcing him to expose his claws. The smell of Boyd's blood lingers on his skin and bones. "Stiles and I will stay to help Derek clean things out." Lydia continues, points to Derek and Stiles with a forced smile._ _

__Aiden opens his mouth, probably to protest about leaving Lydia, but Danny is quicker. He looks up at Stiles with a raised eyebrow._ _

__"I thought your cousin's name was Miguel?" he asks._ _

__Lydia and the twins turn to Stiles with confused looks on their faces. Peter snorts. Derek counts up to ten in his mind and decides he might slam Stiles' head over some hard surface later. Stiles has the decency to look embarrassed. He recovers pretty quickly, though._ _

__"Oh, that?" he utters with his blatantly lying face. "It's just a pet name. Families, man... you know."_ _

__Danny doesn't seem much convinced, but he lets himself being pulled by Ethan towards the exit. Aiden gives Lydia an intense, lingering look, and he crosses his eyes with Peter's, mumbling something along the lines of "be careful" to her before joining his brother. The trio finally disappears by the door._ _

__The remaining four wait still until their footsteps can no longer be overheard. Then Lydia's shoulders drop as she lets out a breath of relief, her smile fading at once. Derek is curious about why she had decided to stay. He could guess Stiles' reasons (to take that cop away from the place and, of course, Lydia herself), but decidedly not hers._ _

__"You want to tell me what that's all about?" he asks to no one in particular. Stiles opens his mouth, but Lydia raises her chin and stares both him and Peter down._ _

__"Party was my idea, actually." She tilts her head, arms crossed over her chest. Derek can hear her heartbeat and he's not surprised about how calm she actually is. "Though if I knew you were heading back, of course I'd have thrown this somewhere else." Then she narrows her eyes at Stiles like it was somehow his fault._ _

__"I didn't know he was coming back!" Stiles says in his defense and... does he look a bit angry as he looks at Derek?_ _

__"Ah." Peter steps over, interrupting Derek's train of thought. "He's telling the truth. My dear nephew didn't care to inform anyone, not even his uncle, about his return." He lets out a theatrical sigh. "A bit dramatic of his part, I may add. He does enjoy making an entrance."_ _

__Derek considers replying, but decides it only would add fuel to the fire. Stiles and Lydia stare at Peter like he's their least favorite person in the world. Though he couldn't actually blame them, Derek knows that's not the time. He wonders how to suggest the two of them to go home when Stiles frowns like a thought just occurred to him._ _

__"So, that woman... is she a hunter?"_ _

__"Yes." Peter replies. "She's from an old family called Valentino."_ _

__"Yeah, yeah, I know." He replies and though Derek is curious, he doesn't interrupt him. Probably Deaton told Scott about the new hunters and, of course, Scott told Stiles. "What I don't know is _how_ Scott actually managed to not wolf out like crazy when she pointed that bow to Isaac. I mean, I've saw him lost control over a little less. It has something to do with him being an alpha now?"_ _

__Derek can easily understand how Stiles had reached that conclusion. "As alpha he does have more control," he explains, hesitates. "But even that needs training, so--"_ _

__"What my nephew is trying to say is that none of us could transform. I still can't, actually."_ _

__"What do you mean?" Stiles is obviously surprise by the information. Lydia, on her side, looks oddly guilty. Derek wonders if maybe she isn't thinking about the time she drugged him to assist in Peter's resurrection._ _

__"That hunter probably sprayed some wolfsbane in the air." Derek says and now there only a few of them in the loft, in fact he can sense a familiar acrid sweet smell around the room. "Just enough to subdue, not to cause real harm."_ _

__"Of course not, I did my research." Lydia shrugs and all of them stare at her. "What? I couldn't just let a bunch of teenager werewolves loose with alcohol around, could I?"_ _

__Derek is about to say something when Stiles turns to her, his face somewhere between amused, angry and terrified. "You know they can't actually get drunk, right?"_ _

__Lydia rolls her eyes at him. "Of course I do, but Allison and Danny can. The last thing we needed was Scott challenging Isaac to a duel just because Allison got a little handsy or Ethan to rip some poor guy who decided to hit on Danny, you know."_ _

__Stiles doesn't seem impressed. "What about a werewolf hunter shooting Isaac dead because he couldn't heal, Lydia?" He asks a little louder, like he could believe his ears. Derek chooses to not interfere on the matter. Peter seems to be enjoying the little chaos in front of him, but once Stiles notices his smirk, he averts his eyes from Lydia._ _

__" _What?_ " he asks him in annoyance._ _

__"Just wondering what you suppose to be." Peter shrugs, giving Stiles' costume a long curious look. "Little red riding hood who traded their bag full of candy for a baseball bat?"_ _

__Stiles looks downright offended and Derek fights hard the urge to laugh, which comes out as a forced cough. Lydia looks like she could steal Stiles' bat just to beat Peter into a trembling pulp. Derek can't really say he would try to stop her. Maybe sensing the hostile environment around him, Peter gives Derek a small nod, before slipping off without making a noise. Lydia watches him go with narrowed eyes._ _

__"Isaac would have healed." Derek says, puts an end on the subject. "I guess it simply inhibits our abilities, don't actually _changes_ what we are."_ _

__Lydia gives him an impressed look. "Care to share how you did this, though?" he asks her. "Is it in the fog?" Derek points to the fog machine near the window._ _

__"Oh, no." Lydia shakes her head. "It's these wards." She points to some decorations all over the walls, in the shape of little bags. "It's a mix of wolfsbane and mountain ash, just enough to function like a barrier of sorts." She pauses, looks around. "Stiles, would you mind taking them off? I'd stay to help, but I don't think Derek wants me here one minute longer."_ _

__Lydia shifts her shoulder guiltily and both she and Stiles turn to face him. Derek doesn't deny her words. He still deciding if he's feeling mad about the party _and_ the whole warding off of his place. For more clever that she was, he had enough people taking some control over his body, doesn't matter she had no intention of doing so (to him, at least). Stiles looks lost between the two of them. Derek can almost hear his mind processing the whole thing._ _

__"I can't let you go alone," he utters at Lydia and Derek doesn't fail to grasp the unsaid sentence: ' _and Derek obviously can't clean this mess all by himself, what I'm supposed to do?_ '_ _

__"Don't worry, I'll be fine." Lydia takes a cell phone out of her cleavage, at which Stiles makes a poor attempt to avert his eyes. "I doubt Aiden actually left the perimeter. He's been trying to please me these past weeks." She smiles dreamily. "How else do you think I convinced him to wear that Peter Pan costume?"_ _

__Waving them goodbye Lydia walks out of the loft in a few confident steps. Derek feels like closing the door on her wake, but somehow doesn't think Stiles would appreciate the gesture of being locked up._ _

__"So." Derek starts, not sure what to say to the guy he's not exactly friends with, but that had helped him during the whole summer and saved his life more times than he feels comfortable with._ _

__"So." Stiles runs a hand over his face, the red hoodie falling off his head, his hair sticking up. "The big bad wolf returns."_ _

__Derek ignores him, takes off his jacket so he can start with the cleaning. He couldn't touch the wards, but there are a few other decorations he's pretty sure he doesn't want to keep in his place a minute longer._ _

__"Hmm." Stiles mumbles under his breath, narrowing his eyes at him. "Not that big anymore."_ _

__Derek knows Stiles is talking about his weight loss, which is noticeable in his arms, but he doesn't feel like discussing it further, so he just makes a face, ignores him and proceeds to tear black butcher paper off the windows. Stiles doesn't push it and, after putting his bat aside, he starts to gather the little bags Lydia scattered along the walls and the columns. Derek feels the air change around him once the loft is clear from the mixture of wolfsbane and mountain ash (Stiles went as far as to take all the bags outside, where he burned its contents on the parking lot). By the time, they're both done, he asks if Stiles needs a drive home, since he had lend his car to that guy._ _

__"Who is he, by the way?" Derek asks before he can refrain himself. Stiles frowns as he collects his baseball bat from the table._ _

__"You mean Parrish?" He snorts, like he's letting himself think about that for the very first time. "He's the Aiden to my Lydia." Then Stiles laughs aloud as he stares back at Derek's confused face. "Sorry," he says, stopping. "It's not that funny."_ _

__"You okay?" Derek asks, because it feels like the right thing to do. Stiles has bags under his eyes and he notices how his hands are shaking every now and then. "You don't look okay."_ _

__Stiles looks up at him and his whole facade just drops. "No, man, it's just..." he shakes his head, exhales heavily. "It was a _really_ long day."_ _

__Derek grabs his keys from his bag. "Let's get you home, then."_ _

__Stiles agrees with a tilt of his head, but stays silent. Once they're making their way down the building, he chews on his lips, fumbles with the baseball bat on his hands. Derek knows he's up to something, but doesn't ask. Exhausted or not, Stiles never had any problems with talking his way out of things. It shouldn't be a problem now._ _

__"Are you going to tell me what's up with that hunter? It looked as you knew each other."_ _

__"No, I don't." Says Derek as he opens his car. "I've just heard of them as I grown up."_ _

__"But all that about the 'new province' and 'reigning prince'? It's like you guys quoted them from somewhere else."_ _

__Derek turns on the engine and drives out of the parking lot. He thinks a bit, before replying._ _

__"Remember when you tried to reason with me about Scott making a deal with Gerard?" he asks and Stiles frowns, but nods for him to continue. "You said that if someone could understand _that_ that one would be me, because the whole 'the ends justifies the means' idea."_ _

__"So?" Stiles says nonchalantly, but Derek can tell he's ready to fight for Scott if he has to._ _

__"So," he begins, turning into the main road. "Do you know where 'the ends justify the means' concept came from? Who said it first?"_ _

__Stiles tilts his head, thinks about it. He gives up a couple of minutes later, though, shrugging._ _

__"Actually, no one knows who said that first." Derek glances at him as Stiles rolls his eyes. "Or even if anyone in fact said those exact words, but the whole notion of 'the ends justifies the means' is usually attributed to Niccolo Machiavelli in his work _The Prince_."_ _

__"Oh my god." Stiles drops his bat on the car's floor. He turns to face Derek, his mouth open, eyes wide. "Did you say _The Prince_?"_ _

__Derek frowns. "What's the matter?"_ _

__Stiles reaches forward to reclaim his bat and before Derek can say anything, to his surprise, Stiles knocks his forehead against it. "I'm so stupid," he says. "I knew I've seen her before."_ _

__In silence, Derek listens as Stiles proceeds to tell him all about how apparently he had stumbled on Sarita Valentino in the Police Station a week earlier, causing her drop her copy of _The Prince_. Derek wonders what she had been doing over there, but doesn't voice his thoughts out loud._ _

__"So she waited all this long just to make her appearance?" Stiles questions. "Why?"_ _

__Derek shrugs. "Gathering information about the Argents, probably. That's part of their training... getting to know their enemy before launching an actual attack."_ _

__Stiles snorts. "So tonight wasn't an actual attack."_ _

__"Well, no one died." Derek says. He thinks about what Peter said, about the hunters not being the problem. Sarita Valentino may have gone to the party just to challenge Allison, but it was Isaac who got hurt in the process. "And they don't have a problem killing people, even humans, if it means getting what they want."_ _

__"How are they trained, then?" Stiles asks._ _

__Derek sighs before actually telling him. He doesn't know much, but enough to feel uneasy. He explains to Stiles how when a Valentino is born, he or she is assigned to a guardian, who is supposed to teach them how to hunt and to feed for themselves as they find out how to walk. When the child is five, they receive a copy of _The Prince_ , from which they will learn how to read. By the time they're ten they're all well versed on the art of the _consequentialism_._ _

__"... which is an ethical theory that states the consequences are the only base you can use to judge the actual rightness of an act." Derek explains._ _

__"So," Stiles begins. "It doesn't matter _how_ they achieve what they want, if the result is considerate morally okay?"_ _

__Derek nods. "Yes, it's like... is it okay that we have dropped the H-Bomb in Japan because that ended World War Two?"_ _

__Stiles gapes at him, eyebrows raised. Derek can say he's impressed and maybe a little shocked and it feels good. Usually he only gets that kind of look when he wolfs out and threats someone with bodily harm. It's odd to accomplish that kind of result with his knowledge alone._ _

__"This is..." Stiles begins, stops midsentence, looks at him. "How? How do you know all that?"_ _

__Derek chuckles, keeps his eyes on the road, realizes he doesn't have a single reason to not tell him. "I thought about studying History in college." He replies, then without thinking, adds. "My application essay was about Consequentialism and 20th century American politics."_ _

__"Oh," Stiles says. "Did you get in?"_ _

__He seems genuinely curious and Derek tries to not feel mad about the question. He knows Stiles is not to blame. He was the one who engaged the subject in the first place._ _

__"I did." Derek answers, and before Stiles can utter another word, he finishes it, his voice thick with grief. "Then the fire happened, two weeks after I got the acceptance letter."_ _

__Stiles gets the hint and doesn't utter a word for the next moments. Derek feels like slamming his own head against the steering wheel, because it's not fair. He doesn't know what to say or what to do to emend things, so he just keeps driving. They settle in that awkward silence for about five whole minutes, when Stiles sighs._ _

__"You hungry?" he asks, but doesn't wait for Derek's answer. "Because I am. I haven't eaten anything besides half a pack of crackers and a chocolate bar all day long."_ _

__"Okay." Says Derek, who decides he's indeed pretty hungry too. "Do you want me to stop somewhere espec--"_ _

__Before he can finishes his sentence, though, Derek realizes they're actually close to the _Munchers'_ , the all-night diner he used to go with Laura. He and Stiles have eaten there a couple of times during the summer, too. Stiles grins when he recognizes the way Derek is taking._ _

__"Dude, you just read my mind." And he laughs as soon the words are out of his mouth and while Derek raises his eyebrows at him, Stiles doesn't comment it further. Derek wonders if the bags under Stiles' eyes are consequences of the dreams he talked about on the phone. He doesn't know how to approach the subject, however. It's entirely possible Stiles would eventually bring that up, so he might as well just sit tight and wait._ _

__Apart from a couple in a table in the back, the place is completely empty. The waitress glares at the fake blood spots on Stiles' pants, but since it is pretty much Halloween yet she just hands the menus without a single comment. Besides his regular curly fries and double cheeseburger Stiles also asks for a slice of apple pie and a banana milkshake. Derek only notices how hungry he truly is by the time he puts down his menu, after having ordered spiced beans, meatloaf, scrambled eggs, home fries, a large cup of coffee and pancakes for dessert. He meets Stiles' wide eyes across the table._ _

__"They should change this place's slogan to _eating your way to an earlier grave_." He rests an elbow over the table, placing his chin in a hand. "People didn't feed you wherever you went?" he asks, but he's smiling and Derek realizes that maybe wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to share something of his past few weeks. He doesn't know where to start, though._ _

__"How's Cora, by the way?" Stiles asks then, like he just had read Derek's mind. "No relapses?"_ _

__And he remembers Stiles' anxious face as Derek stared back at him through the ambulance's window, before he ran away from Kali. He trusted Stiles enough for him to look after his sister while he couldn't and Stiles did it. Even worried sick about his father, Stiles took care of Cora for him. Kept her safe long enough for Derek to be able to save her. Stiles, maybe more than all people, deserved to know._ _

__"She's great." Derek fights a smile as he thinks about her radiant face after a few days in her true home. "She didn't belong here."_ _

__Stiles nods, looks up to him._ _

__"And you do?" He asks, and there's genuine interest in his question. Derek stares back, thinks about Deaton's call, about how it wasn't even a hard decision to come back._ _

__"I think so, yeah." Derek replies in a quiet tone._ _

__Stiles smiles and nods as he's somehow uncertain on what to say next. "I missed you, you know." He confesses then, unabashedly, his head tilted a bit._ _

__Derek doesn't know how to react. Because he had missed them, too. He missed Beacon Hills. He's glad he's back. And he might don't know what to say to this guy he's not exactly friends with, but he's glad Stiles stayed to help him clean his place up. He's glad they're sitting across each other and that, that's when Derek finally understands Scott's words to him back in the loft, once he arrived. He remembers their conversation over the phone, a couple weeks ago, at the day Derek left town. When he told Scott he could do this. That he would be a good alpha, that he would find his way. And then Scott had finished their talk wishing Derek would find his, too. So maybe Scott was right all along, maybe Derek's way always has been here. In Beacon Hills, trying to fix things up. And it's a nice feeling, knowing there are people to help him._ _

__Stiles watches him in silence, doesn't push for an answer. Derek could just say it, that he missed him too, even if Stiles was infuriating and annoying most of the time, but what comes out of his mouth is Cora's request as they said their goodbyes in São Paulo. Derek shakes his head, grins, and repeats her demands for Stiles to fix him with a Skype account._ _

__"Ah, I see." Stiles chuckles a little, picks up his phone, types something on it. "Alright, then, let me check if _sourwolf2011_ is available..."_ _

__And if Derek barely resists the urge to throw the recently arrived curly fries at Stiles' face, it is his business._ _

____

 

_And did they get you to trade_  
_Your heroes for ghosts?_  
_Hot ashes for trees?_  
_Hot air for a cool breeze?_  
_Cold comfort for change?_  
_And did you exchange_  
_A walk on part in the war_  
_For a lead role in a cage?_  
**Pink Floyd – Wish You Were Here**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is about 4k words longer than the previous ones. I don't even know, guys. I'm afraid it's going to be always like that from now on. Once again, thank you so much for reading, for the kudos, subscriptions, bookmarks and, of course, for your wonderful comments. I'd love to hear what you guys are thinking about this story (or just this chapter) and I don't mind criticism at all (just idk, try to be gentle?), so any kind of feedback is really appreciated. In case you want to do it privately or just want to say hi you can reach me @ [queermadbaggins](http://queermadbaggins.tumblr.com/), my very own corner in Tumblrland. :)
> 
> Render unto Caesar: the lines from Machiavelli's _The Prince_ used in this chapter are from the third part of the book ("Of Mixed Princedoms") and the bit about inflicting 'what injuries you must at a stroke', mentioned by Peter, is from this excerpt (' _Hence we may learn the lesson that on seizing a state, the usurper should make haste to inflict what injuries he must, at a stroke, that he may not have to renew them daily, but be enabled by their discontinuance to reassure men’s minds, and afterwards win them over by benefits_ '), which closes the VIII part ("Of Those Who by Their Crimes Come to Be Princes"). Reference: MACHIAVELLI, Niccolo. _The Prince_ , translated by N. H. Thomson. Vol. XXXVI, Part 1. The Harvard Classics. New York: P. F. Collier & Son, 1909-14. You can find the whole thing online and it's a very interesting reading (if you're ever in the mood for late fifteen/early sixteen century politics, I mean). I'm majoring in History so when Tyler Hoechlin said at Wolf's Bane that he thought Derek would be a history major I just took the whole idea really, really seriously. Sorry, I guess?
> 
> About the costumes (it might be a bit spoilery, so be aware): the [official trailer](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-qJGOau2wSw) came out when I was halfway through this chapter and I found out that the whole Black Light Party business is not suppose to be about Halloween costumes and I couldn't just believe the TPTB just decided to not dress our babies up. What a waste. So, despite my best intentions in keeping this story the closest of the canon as possible, I choose to ignore this bit and put all of them in costumes as I planned from the very beginning. What did you guys thought about the outfits, btw? Allison's and Lydia's are my favorites. In time, on Sarita's costume: she's dressed up as Artemis (or Diana), the [goodness of the hunt](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Artemis). It's worth mentioning that I chose her name because: a) I really like this name; b) it's a Latin name (Spanish, actually) that means "princess", which fitted pretty well for what I have in mind for her.


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